The Seventh Trumpet
by lady leonid
Summary: Something from Charley's past comes back to haunt him in the most violent way and the last person he wants involved is Don
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and langue

This is my first Numb3rs fanfic and is not beta read. All mistakes are my own

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter One

_"The Beast Ascends"_

Now Charley Eppes knew what it would feel like to be attacked by Godzilla. One second he stood, leaning against his car watching his friend fumble with the keys to unlock the door to her gallery. He turned to say something to Mike. For the life of him, he could not remember what. He thought he heard someone call his name and suddenly hell came to earth with a deafening roar and a blast of white hot wind.

He was propelled backwards by a nightmarish force and slammed into something immovable. He bounced off, falling face first to the pavement. Screams echoed in his ears, including his own. He fought to breath, but it hurt too much. Everything hurt too much.

Charley couldn't see. Something was running in his eyes, blinding him. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. He was in a black pit surrounded by pain and the smell and taste of blood. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, but in reality it had only taken seconds for his greatest fear of all these months to come to fruition. All their efforts had been for nothing and the sad thing was, he had no idea why this was happening in the first place. '_Guess 'why' doesn't matter anymore,' _he thought.

Charley took a deep, shuttering breath. What a stupid, useless way for it all to end! Well, at least one thing would come of it. At least now, he would no longer have to bare the pity in Don's and his father's eyes every time they looked at him. It was like, since Amita left, they were waiting for him to fall apart any second. That was getting really irritating. Oh yeah, and he didn't have to go with his Dad to his cousin Lisa's daughter's ballet recital. _Have fun with that one, Don!_

He wondered if he had paid the cable bill. Dad would be pissed if was turned off again because his supposed genius son couldn't get a handle on everyday life. As he slowly slipped farther into darkness, Charley thought of his brother, Don. He had hoped to have more time with his big brother. They had spent so many years apart. He had wanted to get a chance to really know him. He wished he had told his family how much he loved them. Well, it was too late now .

Charley regretted so many things. If he could give his Dad and Don any advice at all, it would be not to die with a heart filled with regrets. That was the saddest thing of all.

He wanted Don to know he was sorry for all the attention their parents had lavished on him because he was some kind of prodigy.

He was sorry for years their mother had spent with him at Princeton away from Don and Dad. He had only been thirteen when he was sent 2400 miles away from home to college and everyone thought he needed his Mommy. A guardian would not have been good enough. He was sure Don still resented him for that.

He regretted how Don seemed to get swept aside and left to fend for himself while the folks struggled with how to raise a gifted child. He regretted being called "the gifted child" as if that somehow made him more important than his brother.

Charley wished he had told his brother that he had always envied how cool Don always appeared to be in every situation, how he had wished in high school that just a little of Don's popularity could have worn off on him. It never happened, but it would have been nice to have been known among his peers as something other than a geek, a freak, and Don Eppes' weird kid brother.

He wished he had told Don about the time when he was nineteen, and he and Tommy Graves stole a bottle of Southern Comfort from Tommy's roommate, drank the whole thing , knocked over a statue of some long dead college benefactor and wound up puking off a bridge. Don would consider that a really non-Charley thing to do. _God, Don, if you only knew the half of it …!_

One last regret touched his fading consciousness. He wished he had a chance to tell Don to dig under the blue garden gnome near the koi pond. There he would find that damned GI Joe with the kung fu grip that went missing so many years before.

Don had spent days looking for it, but it never turned up. He was always misplacing his toys, so his parents weren't overly concerned. They hated the toy anyway. No one had even bothered to ask the little golden child, who sat silently watching the search, if he knew anything.

The golden child never revealed how he had sneaked into his big brother's room, grabbed the action figure and buried it under the gnome on a Saturday afternoon. In his defense, Donny had once again broken his promise to play with his six year old brother and had taken off with his friends.

Don had called him Squirt, ruffling his curls as he walked by, jostling his friends and tossing a baseball in the air, catching it with ease. To make matters worse Don had laughed and agreed when his friends asked, "Your brother's some kind of alien isn't he?" For that childish offence, Poor GI Joe had been relegated to an unmarked grave under the gnome and he went back to his books and tutors and left more carefree Saturday afternoons to other kids not so 'gifted'.

Mea culpa Don, for all the above. What more could he say?

_"Weird, the things that go through your mind when you're dying,"_ he thought, and then he fell into nothingness.

It had been a relatively quiet Wednesday morning at the FBI. Agent Don Eppes and his team took advantage of the lull to catch up on paperwork. Don sighed and reread his evaluation of his team's recent performance for the third time hoping to catch all his mistakes before he sent it on to the powers that be. He had learned long ago the dangers inherent in relying solely on spell check to proof his work. Though the feature could be a life saver, it did not catch everything.

He had once sent a report to the director of the FBI concerning his brother, Charley, in which he referred to the renowned mathematician as a 'vital geek' to the team. He had meant asset of course and he had no explanation as to why he had made such a glaring error.

"I think it was Freudian," David Sinclair had said, laughing so hard he nearly fell over when he heard, "You wrote what you were really thinking."

Everyone thought the slip was hilarious, everyone except Charley who would go to his grave swearing Don had done it on purpose to get back at him for some imagined slight.

"Speaking of Charley," Don said under his breath. He glanced at the time. His brother was supposed to meet him for lunch and he was now forty-five minutes late. He felt concern touch the back of his mind, but dismissed it as quickly as it came.

Since Amita had broken off their engagement and headed for Harvard, the mathematician had been distracted to say the least. Don had been seriously worried about how Charley was handling the breakup. He had even gone to their father about his little brother's state of mind, and their pragmatic Dad had tried to put Don's concerns to rest.

"Charley just needs his space right now, Don," he had said. "He had all these plans and dreams of what his life was going to be like with Amita, and now that has all changed. He's feeling a little lost, but he'll come around. Everyone does, son. We've all had our hearts broken at sometime and we survive. You did, so will your brother."

"Yeah, but Charley's not like everyone else," Don had said, but he had known the old man was right. Charley probably just needed time to lick his wounds and heal. He was a grown man and had been for quite some time now. Charley would get past this and life would go on.

Don picked up his mobile and dialed. The call went straight to voice mail. "Of course," he said , tossing the phone onto the pile of files scattered across his desk. "My brother is becoming the poster boy for absent- minded professors everywhere," Don sighed in exasperation. His genius brother had probably forgotten to charge his damn phone, or better yet, he had lost it again.

_"Guess I'll order in,"_ he thought.

Lead Agent Don Eppes cringed when he looked up to see Colby Grainger heading his way. He looked like a man with a purpose and that never bodes well.

"Hey, boss," the younger agent said with a grin.

Don's eyes narrowed and he waited for it.

"It's been kind of quiet around here today, how about we knock off a couple of hours early and grab a couple of beers. First round's on me."

And then, as if some passing god had over heard him and decided to rain on his parade, they heard a deep rumbling in the distance and the windows rattled with the force.

The entire bullpen fell silent. Don stood, pushing his chair against the wall.

"Was that an explosion?" David Sinclair gave voice to what everyone was thinking.

As if in answer, every phone in the bullpen began to frantically ring and before he could give the order, Agent Eppes' well trained team was geared up and headed out the door, their esteemed leader close behind.

The quite Wednesday was over.

To Be Continued:


	2. Chapter 2

`The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Two

Cast Into The Pit

Charlie stood at the edge of the abyss. The decision was his to make. He could simply let go and sail off into the vast, eternal night. He could choose to hide in death where all the pain and loss of the past year could not find him. He would at last have peace.

There would be no more algorithms to run for Don or anyone else. There would be no more classes or lectures to prepare, no father to try to appease and fail, or older brother to try to impress and ultimately disappoint.

Of course, his life's work would remain unfinished and in a few years, Dr. Charles Edward Eppes would only be a footnote in the field of advanced mathematics and nothing more. He would regret that, but he supposed it was the price of dying young.

His family and friends would grieve him. But, in time, he would be pushed to the back of their minds and the world would go on without him. Don and Dad would box up his room, clean out the garage, donate his books to the college, and give his clothes to some charity. All that would remain of Charlie would be the photographs his father so proudly displayed and maybe a plaque at CalSci. If he was really lucky, maybe the college would rename a building in his memory.

Yes, it would be so easy to give up, but Charlie was not ready to walk down that path. Not yet. Not until he had seen this nightmare to its conclusion. He had made a promise to his friends: No– more than a promise‒ a vow. He had taken a personal vow to see this through to the end, no matter how ugly, no matter how bitter that end might be.

_"Charlie,"_ he thought, _"Charlie, you have a job to finish. This is no time to slack off! Wake up! Wake up_ _NOW!"_ And though he really would have preferred to remain in that hushed realm of night and perfect peace, Charlie gathered his will and every ounce of strength in his body and fought his way back.

The blackness slowly gave way to light. The sweet silence gave way to a cacophony of screams and sirens and panicked voices. His nostrils filled with the stench of blood, fear and burning fuel. The serenity he had found receded and the world crashed in around his ears.

Charlie groaned and tried to move. His head throbbed. Every muscle in his body protested his efforts, but he managed to turn onto his back. He opened his eyes, but squeezed them shut against the noonday sun. He covered his face with his hands in an attempt to block the glare. He felt something warm and sticky. Charlie slowly pulled his hands away and his eyes widened in horror. He felt a wave of nausea sweep over him at the sight of his own blood dripping from his fingers.

_What the hell had happened? Where was he?_ Confusion set in first, then shock threatened to cloud his mind and force him to retreat to his numbers, to P vs. nP. He didn't want to deal with this reality, but he had to! He had to! It was important! His friends were depending on him. He couldn't let them down!

_"No, Charlie, not this time. You will not run away this time. You have to do this! You WILL do this. Now __**get the hell up!**__ "_ He turned onto his side and from there, struggled to his knees.

He looked around and found himself in a war zone. _"This must be what hell is like!"_ He thought. All around him chaos reigned. People were screaming and crying out. Many were bloody and injured. _They need help!_ _Why is no one helping_ _them?_ A child was calling for its mother. An elderly man kept shouting the name ' Maggie' over and over again. Something about that old man's plaintive cry cut through Charlie like a knife and he knew he would hear that heartbreaking sound in his sleep for a long time to come.

Fifteen feet away, the remains of a car was burning and the front of a building was in ruins. The street was littered with broken glass and debris. He tried to fight his way to his feet. He stumbled, falling to his knees again. Charlie gasped, startled at the arms that suddenly wrapped themselves around his body. A strong hand held a cloth to his forehead, stemming the flow of blood.

"Charlie, can you hear me?" The voice was familiar. It took a second, then Charlie remembered. That commanding voice belonged to a behemoth at least a head taller, fifty pounds of pure muscle heavier, with viper- like grey eyes and black hair shaved almost to the scalp. Mike Donovan, his constant companion for the last two weeks.

"Mike!" he choked the name out, "Mike, what happened? Are you hurt?"

"We think there was a bomb," Mike scanned the crowd with a well trained eye while keeping both hands on his stunned charge," I'm fine. Just a bit roughed up. What about you? " Charlie felt fingers pushing back his hair to examine the gash on his head. "Can you see me OK? Are you dizzy or nauseous?" Mike was examining his eyes for signs of a concussion.

"Don't!" Charlie forcefully pushed Mike's hands away, " I just need a minute."

"Kid, listen to me, we don't have a minute," the older man had pulled him closer. "We have to get you out of here!" Mike was in his face, giving him no time to think. "Homeland Defense and the Secret Service have cleared this area. That means the first responders, ATF, LAPD and every other agency that that might have even the smallest amount of authority over this situation is going to be flooding in here any second now and the FBI is going to be leading the charge. Do you understand?"

Charlie nodded, "Yeah, Don, Don will be here soon."

"And YOU cannot be here!" Mike was hauling Charlie to his feet.

"Where's Ken?" Charlie asked, trying to steady himself. Ken was usually right at Mike's heels.

Mike only looked at him for a second, "We have to go!" He said firmly.

"Wait!" Charlie shouted, " Ashley! We have to take Ashley with us. She's in danger! She's---" Charlie felt his insides turn to ice water.

"Mike, where's Ashley?" Charlie looked around at the horrific scene surrounding him.

The larger man shook his head, "I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do for her or Ken now. We have to get you out of here," he hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but compassion was not an emotion he possessed or valued in others. In his profession, compassion got you killed.

Charlie felt as if someone had shot him in the heart. He couldn't breathe. Ashley, not Ashley!

"Where is she?" He demanded.

His only answer was Mike holding onto both his arms, "We need to get you to safety. You're all we have left …"

But Charlie did not want to hear the words. He did not want to have to hear this man or anyone else tell him his beautiful friend was gone. He pulled away. He found himself turning, trying to find her. He had to find her! Then he spotted the small bundle of bloody rags on the sidewalk.

"Oh God!" he whispered and stumbled towards it, ignoring Mike's efforts at steering him in the opposite direction.

"Charlie, believe me, this is a memory you do not want!" Mike grabbed his arm.

"Oh God, no!" Charlie groaned, "No, please God no!" He collapsed beside her. Someone had thrown a jacket over her in an attempt to hide the carnage. Her pale, platinum blond hair fanned out on the blood splattered concrete. She still clutched the Calla Lilies tied with a scarlet ribbon he had given her at lunch. Her favorite flower.

This bundle of bloody rags could not be Ashley . Less than an hour ago, they had been sharing a table at The Maplewood Café. They both ordered the same thing. The Lobster Ravioli in a light lemon cream sauce and they shared a bottle of Chardonnay. Her beautiful green eyes had filled with tears when he leaned across the table to kiss her and hand her the flowers.

"My sweet, funny Charlie. You have always been my inspiration, my friend, " she leaned over and kissed him, "and my biggest fan. Even now, when things are so… difficult, here you are with lilies and that smile," she had reached over to gently touch his lips, "I fell in love with that smile the first time I saw you standing in the rain outside of Club Shadow. Your hair was soaked, hanging in your face and totally out of control. You were with Hicks and that little Goth girl, Lorelei."

"That little Goth girl runs her own design firm now. She makes more money than both of us put together," Charlie laughed, "For my birthday she sent me leather pants , a pair of boots, a silk

shirt and a jacket that fastens with these metal hooks. All black, all custom made. I thanked her, but she must think I have a much more shall we say ….extreme…lifestyle than I do."

"Did you ever wear the clothes?" Ashley's eyes had sparkled.

He had felt himself blush. "I locked the door to my room so my dad and Don wouldn't catch me and tried them on. I don't know how she did it. Everything fit perfectly, but…" he shrugged, " studded leather pants and platform boots doesn't scream "Dr. Charles Eppes, Professor of mathematics."

Ashley had laughed, "You don't always have to be Dr. Charles Eppes ,Professor of mathematics, you know," a sly look had touched her eyes, "I seem to remember a time when you were in that dark phase and …"

"I'll thank you not to bring up the past!" He had laughed.

"I never did get that black eyeliner and lipstick back," she sighed, "At least I still have the pictures in case I ever want to blackmail you," then she grinned. "Hey, maybe you can model that outfit for me. Charlie Eppes in studs and leather! I can't wait."

He had turned even redder, "Well, you're going to have to because that is not happening," and they both had laughed. "Let's just enjoy the food. I blew off lunch with my brother for you, Miss DeVoe."

She had raised her eyebrows and looked doubtful.

"No, it's true. I stood up my big bro to have lunch with a beautiful, famous artist and I'm not in the least bit sorry," they lifted their glasses in a toast.

They had laughed, talked about old times and old friends back east and for a little while, they forgot all their troubles. She had been so excited and so nervous. She was opening a new exhibit and wanted him to see it first since he was her "inspiration" for the whole thing. She had hoped he would be pleased.

"Hey," he had whispered motioning at the table next to theirs, "take a look at the Steroid Twins."

They had both glanced at Mike Donovan and Ken Meyer. Mike had been glued to Charlie's hip for two weeks and Ken to hers. Except for the color of their hair, the two men looked very much alike. Mike was dark where Ken was fair, but besides that, both of them seemed to have been made in the same, huge muscle bound mold.

"Ashley, I'm going to talk to someone about having you taken into protective custody. I can do it. I just have to make a couple of calls." Charlie said, pouring another glass of wine.

She had looked at him through narrowed eyes, "Why?" She had demanded.

"Because, I do not want the Agency using you as bait. I agreed to this because they gave me no choice, but…"

"So did I!" She interrupted. "Five of our friends are dead, Charlie. We have no idea who this psycho is, why he is targeting us or who he might go after next! "

"Exactly," Charlie had whispered, "I don't want this bastard to harm anyone else that I love. I sent my father and his friend Art all the way to Canada on a month long golf and deep sea fishing trip just to get him as far away from me as possible. I tried to find a way to send Don away , but short of kidnapping a federal agent, I couldn't come up with anything. He already thinks I'm on the verge of some kind of break down. If I push him much farther, he might try to have me put away." Charlie shrugged, "I'm only partially kidding about that, by the way."

They glanced at the two men sipping beers at the next table hoping their conversation had not been overheard.

"I just want you to be safe. The Agency can take you to a place so well guarded and secret not even God could find you," Charlie reached over and took her hand, "Ashley, please let me do this. It will only be until this idiot is caught, then we can all get back to our lives."

"And he gets caught by making a move on you, Charlie," she shook her head, "I will not let you face this alone. We're in this together. We're the last two, my love. The only remaining members of Prof. Hickman's Indigos ."

"We talked about this. There is no such thing as Indigo Children. The whole theory was discredited years ago." Charlie insisted.

"Yeah, I know, but didn't we have fun being The Indigos and wasn't it nice getting paid for it," she laughed, "Hey, it was college. That $200.00 the professor paid us to let him run his tests came in handy."

Charlie nodded. He had thought the whole thing was stupid back then, but if someone was willing to pay him to take a few tests, he wasn't going to argue. "Will you at least think about going to a safe house? If not for your own safety, then for my sanity. Knowing you're in harm's way is making me crazy."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, "Fine. After the exhibit tomorrow, I'll consider going to a safe house, but only if you promise me, that if they do not catch this bastard soon, you'll join me." She grinned, "Maybe they'll end up putting us in witness protection and we can start a new life somewhere else at their expense!"

Charlie laughed softly, "Yeah, knowing how the Agency thinks, they will set us up with some little Mom and Pop store somewhere in the mid-west. We can be Shaun and Molly O'Connor, an Irish American couple from Boston. They will even give us an Irish Setter to complete the look."

"My love, you could pass for a lot of things, but Irish isn't one of them." Ashley laughed hard enough to draw attention to their table.

It was at that moment, Mike Donovan decided lunch had lasted long enough. It was time to go.

"We still have to go the gallery. Charlie has to see the exhibit before anyone else and that's final!" Ashley had said as they walked out of the restaurant hand in hand , flanked by The Steroid Twins.

Charlie felt tears streaming down his face. He was dreaming! He had to be dreaming. This couldn't be happening. Less than an hour ago, they had been laughing together, remembering old friends, sharing a bottle of wine. Then in a hellish moment in time, she had been ripped from his life forever and nothing would ever be the same again.

He reached out to touch the hand that had so recently had held his. She was cold, so terribly cold. Someone was pulling at him, trying to get him to stand, but he didn't want to leave her. He never wanted to leave her. Then he saw another body close to hers – a much larger body.

"Ken," he said the name softly.

Charlie wasn't sure he could take this. It was too much. They were asking too much. He was just a mathematician. He ran equations and algorithms. He was not a field agent. He gasped when someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and growled in his ear.

"We have to get out of here before your brother…" Mike was on the verge of using force to haul Charlie to his feet, even if he injured the much smaller man in the process. He did not care. He had his orders.

But it was too late. Charlie heard Mike curse under his breath and felt his hands releasing him as Agent Don Eppes pushed the larger man out of the way, "David, Colby, get over here!" he shouted, then knelt beside his brother.

Charlie felt Don slip an arm around his shoulders, "Buddy! What are you doing here? Are you hurt? We need to get you to a hospital!" Don sounded almost frantic in his concern for his brother.

Charlie wanted nothing more than to lean on his brother, to let Don protect him, but he couldn't. Don could not be a part of this. If something happened to Don because of him, Charlie knew he would not be able to live with it.

"I don't need a hospital!" Charlie had said, "I'm fine!"

"You're not fine! You're bleeding and…" Don had tried to brush his brothers hair back to check out the gash that was still oozing blood.

"I said I'm fine!" Charlie had hissed through clinched teeth.

"I know you think you are, but you could be in shock. You could have internal injuries. You need to let someone look you over just to make sure," Don's eyes took in his blood splattered, battered little brother with fear.

The younger man had gone very still in his arms. Even his breathing seemed to have stopped. "Charlie, can you hear me? Are you listening?"

But he wasn't listening. Don's voice faded into the background. Charlie felt cold fingers touch the base of his spine and he knew, he knew the madman who had robbed him of his friends, his peace of mind and of Ashley was very close, watching. He felt a sudden dark fear that Don was in mortal danger.

He slowly rose to his feet, "Please, get away from me!" Charlie hissed, struggling out of Don's grasp.

"Mike, "he called, ignoring his brother's attempts to stop him, "where are you?"

"I'm here," Mike pushed his way between the two brothers.

"I have to get out of here!" Charlie whispered, leaning close to Mike so Don could not hear. "He's close. I can feel it. He's watching us."

"OK, just hang on. As soon as we get clear of the crowd, I will send for the car." Mike grasped Charlie's arm and started to lead him towards a side street.

But Agents David Sinclair and Colby Grainger blocked their retreat.

"I'm sorry, but the two of you will need to come with us," David said, his eyes locked suspiciously on Mike.

"Why? Am I under arrest?" Charlie demanded.

"No Charlie, of course not. You seem to know something about this situation. We have some questions. That's all," David said, glancing at his boss.

"Make sure an EMT checks them out before you take them to head quarters," Agent Don Eppes said, turning his attention from his brother to the situation at hand, "and see to it the two of them are kept separate until we question them."

Don felt sick to his stomach to have to treat his brother this way. But for now, Charlie Eppes was NOT his brother. He was a person of interest in an act of terrorism and Don could not treat him any differently than he would a stranger, no matter how much it hurt the both of them.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Three

_"Black Days"_

Agent Don Eppes stood outside the interrogation room watching his brother through the two-way mirror. The FBI agent hardly recognized Charlie. He seemed so small and vulnerable dressed in the orange jump suit, the kind usually reserved for prisoners. Don rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. He couldn't believe he had his math geek little brother sitting in an interrogation room waiting to be questioned by David Sinclair. The whole situation was surreal, like something from a bad B movie.

_"Buddy, don't make me do this. Talk to me." _Don thought. He REALLY did not want to do this. He wasn't sure how much more Charlie could take, but unless his brother opened up, there was nothing he could do. Charlie would be treated like any other hostile witness and no amount of brotherly love was going to change that. _"Let me help you. Please, I want to help you, but you have to be honest with me, Charlie. Don't lock me out!" _Don clenched his fist.

Charlie sat very still, his eyes staring straight ahead. He was pale and battered. He hardly seemed to be breathing, but if he was anxious, Charlie didn't show it. The clasped hands that rested on the table did not tremble. In fact, he seemed strangely detached. Don had seen Charlie in similar states before, when their mother was dying of cancer, for instance. But this was different. This was nothing like P vs. NP. This was somehow far more frightening.

_"Charlie, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?"_ Don thought.

'Withdrawn' had been the word David Sinclair had used to describe the mathematician as he drove him from the crime scene to FBI headquarters. Any effort either he or Liz had made to communicate with the younger Eppes brother had been met with silence. Charlie was usually a little too chatty, sometimes to the point of being annoying. David found an absolutely silent Charlie disconcerting.

_"He's probably still in shock,"_ David thought. _"Damn near getting killed by a bomb can do that to you. He'll come out of it soon. Come on, man, come out of it!"_

"Are you doing okay back there?" He asked, glancing in the rearview. Charlie only narrowed his eyes and looked out the side window.

Upon their arrival at headquarters, they had photographed Charlie's injuries, then he had led the mathematician to the men's room and allowed him to clean up the best he could under the circumstances. They had taken his blood splattered, torn clothing as evidence and given him the jumpsuit to wear.

"Sorry, I know it's not your style, but this is all we have," David had apologized.

Charlie's eerie silence alarmed Don. He was afraid his brother was suffering some kind of a mental break. But it was his eyes that had caused the agent's blood to run cold. Charlie was normally pretty transparent. Under stress, Charlie could be a bit overly emotional. Don had always been able to read his younger brother like a book. But now, he gazed into those dark eyes and saw --- nothing. They were totally devoid of emotion; almost devoid of life. It was as if something in Charlie had frozen over.

Don had seen that look before, in the faces of older agents who have spent too many years watching the cruelty man can inflict upon his fellow man, or soldiers who have fought too many battles. He never expected to see that look in his gentle brother's eyes. For the first time in their lives, he looked into Charlie's face and saw a stranger.

"Don---," David Sinclair said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Why didn't you take Charlie to a hospital before bringing him here?" Don demanded.

"Because he refused medical care," David answered. "We can't force a grown man to go to a hospital if he doesn't want to."

Don let out a heavy sigh and nodded.

David continued, "We received the preliminary report from the crime scene. It's far from complete, but I thought you'd like to read it before I question Charlie." he handed the file to Agent Eppes and waited. His boss was not going to like the findings.

Don took the folder and read it, feeling the blood drain from his face, "They're sure?" he asked.

"Yeah, they're sure." Agent Sinclair nodded."What do you want me to do?"

Don ran his hands over his eyes. He was getting a headache. He handed the report back to David, "Question him. Question him like you would anyone else," he said, then as David opened the door to enter the interrogation room, "David, don't hold back," he added, every inch Agent Don Eppes.

David Sinclair hated this. The last person he ever expected to have to interview was Charlie Eppes. He took a breath and prepared himself to do what he had to do. He wished had been assigned Captain Steroid to interview, but Don had wanted him to handle Charlie. He had wanted Colby to interview Donovan. David was not sure why and he supposed it didn't matter. He would do his job to the best of his ability, no matter how distasteful he found it.

"I brought you some water," he said, sitting the plastic bottle on the table, then settled in the chair directly across from Charlie, "If you'd rather have coffee, I'll have someone bring it."

His gesture was met with a frosty stare. He was not absolutely sure Charlie had heard him. David glanced through the folder.

"You understand that you are not under arrest. You were at the scene of a heinous crime and we have some questions we'd like to ask you," David said, taking out a pen and a notebook.

Charlie sighed and shrugged. He opened the water and took a sip.

_"At least that was a reaction,"_ Don thought as he watched from behind the mirror.

"Why were you at the scene today?"

Charlie hesitated. For a second David thought he was going to refuse to answer, then in a soft almost inaudible monotone, "I was visiting a friend. We had lunch at the Maplewood Café. It's around the corner from her gallery, so we walked. I have a credit card receipt if you need it."

"I know this is difficult for you," David said looking through the photographs in the folder. He was an experienced agent and had seen a lot of ugly things, but bodies blown apart only about a block away from headquarters shocked even him.

"You've been through a terrible experience, Charlie. I can't imagine what you're feeling right now. But we need to know anything you might remember about the explosion today. We want to get this guy before he hurts anyone else."

Charlie hesitated. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, "I was standing by my car. I heard someone call my name. There was this tremendous sound, a flash of white light and a hot wind. I don't remember anything else until I woke up and I was laying in the middle of the street," Charlie said, never altering his tone, "Mike helped me up and was going to take me home, but I had to find my friend first," Charlie licked his lips, "I…found her, then you and Don found me."

_"He's too calm,"_ Don thought, _"Something is very wrong with my little brother!"_

"Who called your name?" David asked.

"I don't know. Before I could see him, the bomb went off."

"I'd like to ask you about the vic…"

"Ashley," Charlie interrupted, "She had a name, Ashley DeVoe."

David looked up from his notes, "Okay, I'm sorry. Can you think of any anyone who would want to harm her?"

"Ashley is…was… an artistic genius. She painted, wove tapestries and sang Mozart. She played piano and violin. She liked old movies, particularly Humphrey Bogart movies, vintage clothes and antique jewelry," he closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to maintain his composure.

"She studied at Julliard and NYU," Charlie took a deep shuttering breath, " We used to take her car out to this open field in the country, put Tony Bennett in the CD player and dance all by ourselves in the dark. We were very dangerous people, David, the math geek and the artist; a regular Bonnie and Clyde," for the first time there was a crack in Charlie's armor and hint of emotion in his husky voice; sarcasm.

_"He never answered the question,"_ Don thought. _"He deliberately avoided answering the question."_

"What was your relationship with Miss DeVoe?" David asked.

"Six of us shared a house when I was in school back east. Ashley and I became very close. We had a lot of fun together," Charlie said, remembering his friends. "We all had a lot of fun together."

"When you say you and Miss DeVoe were close, do you mean you were ---?"

"We were the best of friends and occasionally lovers. Is that what you want to know?" Charlie said, glaring at the mirror, knowing his brother was on the other side listening to his every word.

David sat the pen down and leaned across the table, "Charlie, can you think of any reason anyone would want to kill you?"

"No," Charlie sighed, "No, why would anyone want to kill me?" He crossed his arms over his chest.

_"Now he's lying," _Don clenched his teeth_, "Charlie knows a lot more than he's saying." _

"I don't know. You have to tell us," David slammed both his hands down hard on the table making Charlie jump, "Listen to me, someone put a bomb in your girlfriend's gallery, a bomb that killed two people, and that same person put a bomb in your car."

Charlie's eyes narrowed, "What? I thought…"

"There were two bombs; one in the gallery and one in your car. Both were detonated simultaneously, probably using a cell phone. This means whoever did this intended to kill both of you at the same time. This was no random act, Charlie. You and Miss DeVoe were the intended targets. Lucky for you, you were blown clear and wound up with a few cuts and bruises. Your friend was not so fortunate."

Charlie had turned white as milk. Don thought he might pass out.

"There was a second body, a man…"

"Ken Meyers," Charlie looked away, "You have to ask Mike about Ken. I barely knew him."

"What is your relationship with Mike Donovan? David asked.

"He's a friend, that's all," Charlie said, with an icy glare, "Do I need a lawyer?"

_"Another lie," Don thought. _

"No, Charlie, I told you, you are not under arrest."

"Then I want to go home," Charlie said.

"First we need a sample of your DNA to compare with any evidence found at the scene or on your clothes. If you could…"

Charlie shoved the water bottle at David, "Maybe you can get some saliva off that or---," he ripped the bandage off his forehead and tossed it on the table, "That has my blood and probably some skin and hair. Need more or is that enough DNA for the FBI?"

Charlie looked tired and pale. "Either charge me with something so I can call my lawyer, or let me go home," he insisted, "I've told you all I know."

"I'll be right back," David said, gathering his papers and opening the door.

Don Eppes' headache was not getting any better. If this had been a stranger, considering this interview, Charlie would have gone from witness to possible suspect. After all, he certainly had the knowledge to build a bomb and he had access to the materials required. But Don knew his brother was completely incapable of harming another human being.

Charlie was nothing if not kind hearted. He was literally the personification of a man who could not hurt a mouse. When he was around ten years old, Don recalled, Charlie had set out on a crusade to save mice from the traps their father had set. Don still remembered those traps. They consisted of cardboard coated with a sticky substance. The unsuspecting rodent was supposed to get stuck to the trap, and then you simply tossed it in the trash.

Charlie had spent hours rescuing the unfortunate creatures from their sticky fates and setting them free in a field near the house. Their father had been furious, claiming the mice were returning as soon as Charlie released them. The budding genius had worked out a complicated algorithm to try and prove to his parents how unlikely it was for mice to find their way from the field back to the Craftsman. He even set up a black board in the kitchen to plead his case. Their mother had laughed so hard she spilled her coffee. She had hugged her youngest, kissing his cheek and ruffling his unruly hair. Their father had not been so amused.

"What do you want me to do?" David asked. "There's no way we can keep Charlie here. If we try, his lawyer will have him out before the ink is dry on the paperwork. We can offer him protective custody, but I don't think he'll accept."

Don wanted to smash his way through the mirror and knock some sense into his stubborn brother, "Maybe he'll accept if I drug and kidnap him." Don muttered under his breath.

"Release him," he said and left the room.

Charlie sat in a chair adjacent to the bullpen. He wondered what time it was and how long it would be before Mike was released. He was sure it would not be much longer. If the FBI tried to keep Mike, the Agency would send in the lawyers and that would be that. Or if he called Harrington, all hell would break loose. The Colonel was not famous for his restraint by any definition of the word. No, the last person Charlie wanted to have to deal with at the moment was Colonel Jeremiah Harrington.

The mathematician tried not to look towards the bullpen. He was all too aware of the eyes on him. He was all too aware of what he must look like, but he did not care. The only thing he wanted was to get out of that office and get home. Once there, he could rid himself of the ridiculous jumpsuit and get a shower. He wanted to shower in water so hot; it would take the skin off his flesh. Maybe then he could get the smell of blood and death out of his nostrils.

"The car will be here soon," Mike Donovan said as he eased into a chair next to Charlie's. The smaller man noted the ill fitting jumpsuit clinging to larger man's body.

"I see they got your clothes to," he said.

"Doesn't matter," Mike said, "Are you okay?"

"Do you care?" Charlie asked.

"It's my job to make sure you're okay," Mike said, glancing at the bullpen.

"Yeah, hell of a good job you've done so far," Charlie huffed.

"Your brother is an asshole, you know." Mike asked, checking his watch, ignoring Charlie's remark.

Charlie glanced at him, "Did you think I was joking when I warned you about him?"

Mike shrugged, "I really didn't consider him much at all,"

"That would be a huge mistake," Charlie said with a sigh.

"Anyway, our ride is here," Mike nodded at four men in black suits standing by the door." Let's go. The sooner we get you off the streets, the better."

The two men stood and started to leave, but Charlie stopped when his big brother grabbed his arm.

"Charlie, can we talk?" Don asked, glancing at Mike, "In private."

Charlie hesitated, then nodded and followed Don into his cubical.

"Okay, little brother, what the hell is going on?" He demanded.

"I can't tell you. I wish I could." Charlie said, lowering his eyes, "To be honest with you, I'm not sure I know myself."

"We can take you into protective custody," Don said, not letting go of his brother's arm, "Charlie, we can, no, we WILL, keep you safe."

Charlie glanced at Mike and the four men waiting for him, "I don't think they're going to allow that," he said under his breath.

"Who are 'they', Charlie? The NSA?" Don whispered, doing his best not to be over heard.

"I can't say," Charlie whispered.

Don rubbed his eye. His head was throbbing, "I'm sick of all this cloak and dagger bullshit. I only want to help you. You're my brother. If anything happened to you…"

"You can't help me. Not this time," Charlie said sadly. He clasped Don's wrist for a second.

"Charlie, about the girl, I'm---," Don could feel his brother tense.

"Don't!" Charlie was suddenly shaking, "Please Don, just don't say it! I'm afraid I'm going to lose control if you do. I'm terrified I'll fall apart, and I'm not sure even you could put me together again."

"Then let me help you!" Don demanded.

"No!" Charlie pushed his brother away, "Listen to me, Don! For once, listen to me. This is not like when we were kids. This is no schoolyard bully! You can't protect me this time. I want you to stay away from my house and stay away from me," he turned on his heels and walked away from his brother.

"What? Charlie, you can't…" Don felt as if he had been slapped in the face.

Charlie stopped, but did not look back, "Yes, I can. It's my house, remember? You are no longer welcome. I want you out of my life. I want you out of my life, today!" He continued on to join Mike and the others, aware the entire bullpen was watching him; feeling like his knees might give out before he reached the door. But knowing he had at least tried to do the right thing and keep his brother from harm.

The drive back to Pasadena seemed to take forever. Charlie wanted to scream, to attack Mike and rip him apart. The son of a bitch had assured Ashley and him that the gallery was safe, that the restaurant was safe. They had been assured everything had been checked out and they could relax for an afternoon, but the Agency had been wrong, horribly and tragically wrong and now there was no going back.

"What the hell happened?" he had demanded when they were safely in the car and on their way, "You were supposed to protect her!"

Mike tensed. He had been waiting for this. "We don't know what happened just yet. Both of you have been under twenty-four hour a day surveillance for weeks. We have agents stationed inside and outside of your homes and your places of work. Whenever you go out, you are always followed by at least two, sometimes more of our best people."

"We have state of the art electronic monitoring equipment aimed at you at all times from every angle possible, even in your cars. That damned tracking device you wear is better than the ones heads of state have access to. No one should have been able to get near you without us knowing about it!" Mike was furious, but could not let the mathematician see it. This whole thing was a major FUBAR and it rested squarely on his head.

They rode in silence for a while.

"Do you think your brother will listen to you and stay out of it?" Mike asked, "I mean, he'll really have no choice. By now his Director has called him and told him the FBI is off the case."

Charlie shook his head, "I don't THINK, I KNOW. By now Don has David running background checks on you, Ken, Ashley and probably even me. I give him until around ten tomorrow morning at the latest and he'll be knocking at the door. Don will not give up."

"If the Agency orders him…"

"He won't care about the Agency. I doubt Don has a great deal of faith in your ability to protect me right now. When it comes to his kid brother, Don is like a mother bear protecting her cub; ferocious. " Charlie motioned at the car window, "We're here," he said as they pulled into thedriveway and stopped.

Charlie Eppes tried not to think as he stripped off the jumpsuit. He tossed it into the corner of his bathroom and stepped into the shower. He let the steaming, hot water run over his bare skin and taking a bar of soap and a washcloth, he scrubbed himself as hard as he could, ignoring the pain when the water hit the abrasions that covered his body. He grabbed the shampoo and washed his hair, hoping to wash away all the dried blood and dirt. He wondered if he would ever really feel clean again.

He scrubbed himself until the water ran cold. He turned off the tap, and stepped out onto the mat. Charlie dried himself quickly and slipped on a pair of clean jeans, a dark colored tee shirt and a pair of beaten up old sneakers. He turned off the light and stepped into his bedroom. He stood in the middle of the organized clutter that had been the butt of a thousand jokes and jabs from his family over the years.

Suddenly he felt as if he was going to explode. He couldn't breathe. Ashley filled his head. He wanted to see her smiling, to see her as she had looked sitting across from him at lunch. But all he could see was the bloody, broken body sprawled on the sidewalk. covered by a stranger's coat.

Charlie felt as if something was crushing his chest. He felt hatred building up inside of him, threatening to rip him open. He swept his arms across his desk, knocking everything to the floor. His fiercely fought for control broke and a primal scream ripped from his throat. He smashed everything within his grasp before he fell to the floor at the foot of his bed, his head in his hands. He was only vaguely aware of the door opening and a large figure blocking the light from the hall.

Mike Donovan took a quick glance around the darkened bedroom. It only took him a second to assess the situation. There was no attack. He relaxed as much as he ever let himself relax. He holstered his Sig P226 Blackwater Tactical.

"As soon as you pull yourself together, come downstairs," he said and closed the door.

Charlie rested his head against the bed. He realized he was impossibly, excruciatingly, exhausted and ready to collapse. All hope had vanished. He wanted to surrender, but that was not an option. He was, as Ashley had pointed out such a short time ago, the last of Prof. Hickman's Indigo's.

He slowly rose to his feet, picturing all their faces, his sweet friends from years past, Professor Jon Hickman, his son David, Ben, Gary, Ron, and beautiful Ashley. His little band of geek, freaks and outcasts, they were all gone now. He was totally alone. He reached for the doorknob, hesitating only long enough to ask whatever god might be listening for the strength to do what he had to find answers for his lost friends. Then maybe they could all, himself included, finally find peace.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Four

_Roses in October_

The Warrior was a tall man. Standing six foot four, with a body that was well toned, strong and agile; he was a formidable figure, indeed. He appeared to be far older than his thirty-nine years. His hair hung past his shoulders, straight and thick. Once upon a time, in a former life, his locks had been raven black, now they were gray; his once finely chiseled, handsome face, was now flawed with deep lines and scars. His mahogany brown eyes seemed to reflect all the evil and darkness he had witnessed over the years. He wore these imperfections proudly, as badges of honor, as outward signs of the righteous war he had single-handedly waged for three years.

As always, The Warrior rose before sunrise. He pulled on a pair of sweat pants, a tee shirt, and laced up his sneakers. Within twenty minutes, he began his morning routine. First, no matter what the weather had to offer, he ran ten miles, sometimes more, never less. Then he spent at least an hour in his private gym strength training using both free weights, the latest machines, and donning the gloves to pound the heavy bag. Not a single muscle group was neglected. He ended his workout with martial arts in one form or another. It was only after he had taken care of his body, that he allowed himself sustenance and finally, a shower. He pulled on a pair of jeans, a clean sweater and sneakers. He stopped for a moment to admire his reflection in the full length mirror. He was in top condition; far better condition now than when he had been young. He sighed. Soon the war would end and he could rest, but until then, he had chores to attend to.

The early morning sun filtered through the glass windows of the solarium, warming the terracotta tile floor and glinting like diamonds off the water spraying from the fountain. There, in a near-perfect climate controlled environment, The Warrior could grow his beloved flowers and plants all year round with minimum worry about insect infestation or weather. He hummed softly along with Nick Cave as he pruned his roses, perhaps for the last time. Then gently cupping a blossom and pausing to admire its absolute perfection, he sang in a soft baritone:

_"In the days of madness_

_My brother, my sister_

_When you're dragged towards the Hell-mouth_

_You can beg at the end_

_But there ain't gonna be one friend_

_For the grave will spew you out_

_It will spew you out_

_You better run, you better run _

_You better run to The City of Refuge…_

He smiled a little sadly. Soon he would have no need for roses or shelter. All his plans fashioned long ago and so carefully executed over the years, were finally coming to a very successful conclusion.

It had been a long, agonizing quest and, much like a knight of old, he had given everything he possessed, to see it through. His youth, his money, his very name, had been sacrificed before the altar of his holy cause. Soon, he would bathe in the blood of his Adversary, victorious at last! Vae victis, this was the dictum by which he waged his war, Vae victis! Woe to the vanquished.

The Warrior clenched his teeth as, despite his best efforts to stop it, anger filled his heart. Anger was not an emotion acceptable to his Master. Anger served no purpose in a war against iniquity. His hands trembled as he chose a beautiful deep red rose. He carefully clipped it; he lifted it to his nose. He breathed in the sweet aroma, letting it remind him of all he had given up to get to this point. He clasped the rose in his right hand, then grasping the petals tightly in his left; he yanked, allowing the thorns to rip open the flesh of his palm, adding new injuries to old battle wounds. He had to keep his mind focused on his quest. He could not allow the petty grievances of the man he had once been to color his mission. The Master had given him much and could take it away just as easily. He was too close to victory to lose sight of his calling now.

He sighed and licked his dry lips. He thought of his prey huddled in his fortress, surrounded by guards and electronic surveillance, feeling so safe and secure. The wicked little fox had no idea how truly vulnerable he was; how close the hounds of God were to his heels. He had no idea just how easy it would be to take him out with a single shot through the windows from a sniper rifle or how little effort it would take to blow that old house sky high with a rocket launcher, but killing his enemy so cleanly and so anonymously was not his intention. He wanted to look into the eyes of his Adversary and savor every moment of his terror and pain as life drained from his body

The Warrior knew a dozen ways to get past that expensive, over-rated security system, to take out the guards and to snare the wretched little vermin, ensconced so contentedly in his lair. He would teach them all a valuable lesson about over confidence. No amount of security, no matter how elaborate, could stop a skilled assassin hell-bent on slaughter, especially if that security has been compromised. God bless human nature! Throughout the ages, it never changes. What a man, deep in debt, will not do to save his financial ass! No matter what the situation, dig deeply enough and you can always find someone desperate enough and greedy enough to betray all he holds sacred for a few pieces of silver—well, several hundred-thousand pieces of 'silver', in USD, wired to a bank account in the Caymans. Too bad this traitor will never get the chance to enjoy his blood money.

The Warrior sat his pruning shears on a small glass top table. He picked up the framed photograph he always kept in close proximity to the roses. The likeness of his enemy, the one who had stolen everything that should have been his, smiled back; such a sweet smile, so full of enthusiasm and expectations for the future, the confident smile of a man admired by all, a man constantly showered with praise and glory. The Warrior ran his wounded hand over the smiling face, smearing it with his own warm blood. Why was he the only one who could see the malevolence in that smirk? Why was he the only one who could see the evil behind those dark eyes? The Bard had written, _'The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman'_. Could no one else see past that charming countenance to the wickedness that lurked beneath?

"Once, I called you my friend," he whispered. "But then I saw you for what you truly are. I saw the blackness of your heart. I watched you seduce everyone within your grasp. I watched as you stole their souls!" He clenched his fist, "but you could not deceive me, could you? I was shown the light and I escaped your web. One by one, I have sent your minions to the darkest pit of hell! The day of retribution is coming, my friend, and with the letting of your blood, all wrongs will be set right."

He felt tears sting his eyes at the thought of his pale Angel. His love for her had led him to make a grievous error. He had not wanted her to die, but she had condemned herself with her love for his enemy. She had allowed his soiled hands to touch and caress her perfect body. She had allowed his kisses and had defiled herself by taking him into her bed. The thought of his perfect Angel in the arms of that filth from hell made him ill; still, he could not bring himself to use cold silver to release her from evil's grasp. He could not mar her perfect white throat and spill her warm blood onto the earth. He had decided on a different method of punishment for her. She would not know the fear or the pain of cold metal. She would find freedom in a white hot flash of fire, and since they wanted to be together, he decided his enemy could die with her. This had been an enormous mistake. The Master had saved the evil one, but let her die. The message had been clear. There was to be no easy death for this demon disguised as a man. He would suffer as the others had suffered. No — he would suffer more.

The Warrior picked up a towel and wiped the blood and dirt from his hands. Time was short. In three nights, the Blood Moon would rise and the time of reckoning would be at hand. He had preparations to make and details to attend to. In three nights, it would all be over and he would be free. He looked up at the expanse of glass fifteen feet above him. The sun was high in the cerulean sky. It was time to make sure he had everything set up and ready. There could be no more errors.

"_You better run, little fox_," he sang as he left the warmth of the solarium, "_you better run to The City of_ _Refuge_."

The Warrior chuckled. For the little fox, there would be no refuge, no safe haven. The hounds were released and the hunt was on.

* * *

Charlie Eppes sat at the dining room table, his hands clasped behind his neck, wordlessly watching the larger man dressed in fatigue pants and a black tee shirt pace back and forth gesturing and yelling at the top of his lungs into the cell phone. This tirade had been going on for the last thirty minutes and Charlie was getting sick of it. If Mike did not shut up soon, he was going to bolt out the back door and run to the park. At least there it was quiet. At least there he could be alone. Of course, Charlie knew if he tried to make a run for it, Mike or one of his other keepers would tackle him and bring him back. He was fast for a college professor, but not faster than Mike Donovan and the Spy vs. Spy crew. He was, for all essential purposes, a prisoner.

Charlie shook his head. He unclasped his hands and rubbed his burning eyes. He rested his folded arms on the table, wishing he could lay his head down and sleep. He was so tired he couldn't bear it, but sleep, that splendid bastion of peace and healing, only held dread for him. If he slept, he dreamt and his dreams took him to terrible places. In his dreams, he saw Ashley, covered in blood, standing at the foot of his bed. "Charlie, why did you let this happen?" She pleaded in a voice filled with pain and misery. He saw his mother in her casket at her funeral, "Why weren't you there for me? I always cared for you!" she kept asking, her voice so full of hurt and disappointment. "At the hospital, I needed you, why didn't you come? You abandoned me, Charlie!"

And that old dream from childhood had returned in full force, that dream in which he was standing in the middle of a vast field staring up at a star studded sky. It was so beautiful, but then one by one, the stars began swirl and streak across the black expanse like meteors burning up in the atmosphere. Charlie knew that when the last of the stars disappeared over the horizon, he would cease to exist. He tried to get his big brother to notice because only Don could make it stop; only Don could save him. All Don had to do was take his hand and say "I love you", and everything would be all right, but his big brother had only laughed, turned his back, and walked away.

Charlie had that dream frequently when he was young, starting at around age six. It had terrified the child, it terrified the adult man. The difference was that the child could curl up in his father's lap and his father would rock him until all his fears went away. The man had no such luxury. There was no one to rock him, stroke his hair and read The Cat in the Hat. The days when a father's strong arms and the rhythmic creak of a rocking chair equaled comfort and safety were long gone. He was quickly learning that safety was an illusion. It did not exist anywhere, not even in your own home.

"Damn that stupid, overbearing, pompous son of a bitch!" Mike slammed the phone down on the table. He stomped off into the kitchen. Charlie could hear him muttering and cursing the entire time until he returned with two glasses filled with ice and an amber liquid. He sat in the chair across from Charlie and placed one of the drinks in front of himself and one in front of his charge.

"J.D." he said nodding at the glass, "Old Number Seven, Tennessee's finest. Enjoy." Mike took a sip of his drink, then slumped down in the chair looking as tired as Charlie felt.

The two men sat in silence, the tension between them so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"Eppes," Mike said, finally. "About Ashley…"

"I know, you're sorry for my loss," Charlie said, his voice hard and expressionless.

And silence fell between them again.

"This shouldn't have happened," Mike said more to himself than to Charlie. "There was no indication this S.O.B. intended on changing his M.O. For three years, he has followed the same routine every time without a single deviation." Mike slammed his fist on the table hard enough to cause a little of his drink to spatter from the glass.

Charlie narrowed his eyes watched Mike, wondering where this outburst was headed.

Mike Donovan knew he had screwed up and that any excuse he came up with now was just that; an excuse. But, for three years, this bastard had murdered his chosen victims using the same method every time. He never varied his ritual. First, he kidnapped them, never from their places of work, or from the streets, or from their cars, but always from the sanctity of their homes. After the abduction, they were taken to a remote area tortured, beaten and strung up by their ankles. They were then slaughtered like an animal. Their throats had been cut with such ferocity, that they were all but beheaded. Every last drop of blood was allowed to drain onto the dirt, and finally the lifeless body was burned and buried in a shallow grave, and the ground salted as if for purification. The killer then 'signed' his work by leaving a bouquet of three perfect white roses and three black mourning plumes tied with a ribbon of black lace. To this funereal offering, he attached a piece of parchment with the words,' Vae Victis' written in the victims' blood.

So why had he suddenly changed his M.O.? In the past his method of killing had been ritualistic, very personal and very private. He worked under the cover of darkness, not in the glaring light of day. Why had he resorted to something as crude and as imprecise as a bomb? He had stood a good chance of maiming or killing dozens of people. Why would someone who was targeting one particular group of people suddenly deviate from his modus operandi of three years? It made no sense. Nothing about this assignment made sense.

"Mike, I'm sorry about Ken," Charlie said, finally breaking the silence.

The bodyguard glanced at the pallid face watching him so intently. "Ken was a good man, a good soldier." Mike said, taking a sip of his drink.

Charlie narrowed his eyes, "Were you and Ken friends long?" Charlie asked.

Mike shrugged, "We saw some action together over the years. We were partners. In this business, I'm not sure you really have 'friends', not in the sense you mean, anyway."

Charlie nodded. He understood all too well what it was like to have few, if any real friends. He had colleagues and that wasn't the same thing. Except for Larry, he couldn't think of anyone he could call 'friend'. He would like to consider the team his friends, but if he was honest with himself, he knew that really wasn't true. They'd never asked him to join them for a beer or a burger. The only time any one of them contacted him at all, was if they needed his help with a case.

It was pretty much the same with his brother. Don usually called if he needed some numbers ran or if he had questions about Dad. A couple of times a week, he stopped by for dinner or to watch a game with their father. Sometimes, the team joined him at the house for poker or to grill steaks. Charlie was well aware this was mainly because Don's apartment was too small for such gatherings. In fact, when Charlie thought back, he had been to Don's place five times in as many years and he'd only been invited once.

They were brothers, again, not the same thing as friends. They did not 'hang out' together and they never discussed anything other than work, Dad, or whatever game Don and Dad watched the night before. They were getting along at the moment and for that Charlie was very grateful. He could not say that had always been true. He would like to have a closer relationship with his big brother, but the FBI agent was not much on being open about his feelings. If Charlie tried to get close, Don just seemed uncomfortable, so he no longer tried. Charlie frowned. If he really thought about it, if it wasn't for his consulting for the team, and Dad, he and Don would have little reason to speak at all and that was really sad.

"EPPES, ARE YOU LISTENING!?"

Charlie nearly jumped out of his skin. Mike's booming voice cut through his musings about Don, bringing him back into the present, "Yeah… ahhh, No, I'm sorry, I guess I wasn't listening. What did you say?" Charlie said, forcing himself to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"I said – I tried to get Harrington to let us move you to a safe house. I told him I do not believe we can protect you here. He said he would take it under advisement," the older man looked like he would kill the Colonel if he got the chance.

Charlie closed his eyes for second, "So, what do we do now?"

"We do the best we can to keep you from becoming just another statistic in this game." Mike Donovan's gray eyes grew very intense, almost frighteningly so. He glanced around the room, indicating the microphones and cameras that recorded everything that happened in the house. He lowered his voice so only the mathematician could hear, "Charlie, I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you alive, even if it means disobeying my orders. Harrington can go to hell for all that I care."

Charlie swirled his drink, nodding slightly indicating that he understood. Charlie frowned. It had to be afternoon, so where was Don? He should have been at the door hours ago. Maybe Don had decided to listen for once or maybe he was simple too angry to show up

Then, as if on cue, the conversation was interrupted by an unsuccessful attempt to use keys to unlock the door, then a sharp rap.

"He's late," Charlie said softly, a smile touching his lips.

Mike glanced at the monitor to see Don Eppes, looking very much like the federal agent he was, standing just outside the door. He had that bearing they must teach at Quantico because every last one of them had it. They could be dressed in a tee shirt and board shorts and you'd still nail them as feds.

Don knocked again, this time more firmly.

"Geez, you'd think he could knock at my door a little less like a cop." Charlie said, rolling his eyes.

"He shouldn't be here at all," Mike said.

Charlie shrugged, "I told you he wouldn't give up." He cringed when the knock came again and Don looked directly at the camera aimed at him from above the door frame.

The agent took his sunglasses off and glared into the lens, "Come on, Charlie! I know you're home, so open up!"

"Mike, please just open the door before he knocks again or before he goes to the SUV and gets an ax or something!" Charlie stood and threw up his hands up in exasperation.

"An ax, why would he get an ax?" Mike looked confused.

"Didn't you see The Shining?"Charlie asked, "Heeeere's Donny!" he did his best Nicholson, "Hell, he might even try to come down the chimney!" He covered his eyes as Don rapped at the door again, this time using the side of his fist, "Just open the damned door!" He yelled.

Mike Donovan was cautious as he unlocked the three new deadbolts he had personally added to the large wooden front door. If he had his way, the entire entrance would have been replaced by a more secure metal one, but Eppes absolutely refused to allow it. He stood aside, allowing the older Eppes brother to enter. He ignored the icy glare Don gave him as he pushed past and headed straight for his brother.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," he said as he passed his charge, giving the FBI agent a warning with his eyes.

TCB


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Five

_Rules Are Meant To Be Broken_

Charlie Eppes watched as his bodyguard disappeared through the door leading into the kitchen. He moved towards the fireplace, and taking a deep breath, let it out slowly. He braced himself, knowing all too well what was coming next. Rolling his eyes, Charlie turned and faced his older brother, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never been very good at confrontation, especially where Don was concerned. He only hoped his big brother would say his piece then leave without causing too much of a scene. The mathematician was just too tired to fight.

_'And here we go!' _Charlie thought as the FBI agent slowly approached and stopped just a little too close for the professor's comfort. Don looked tired, stressed, and more than a little pissed. Looking into his brother's eyes, Charlie could see the volcano brewing just below the surface. It would take very little to get it to erupt and when it did, the Minoan Eruption of 1645 BCE would pale in comparison and probably wreak less havoc.

"We've been pulled off the case," Don said almost casually, but the tone in his voice practically accused Charlie of somehow personally orchestrating the FBI's removal.

"I thought as much," Charlie said. He flinched at the sudden change in Don's expression. His hands came up in an unconscious defensive gesture as Don took another step towards him. The younger Eppes brother took a matching step backwards, and then another and another, finally finding himself with no way to escape.

_'Shit!_" he thought, _"Don is really good at backing people into a corner."_

"I'm not allowed to offer you a safe house or protection of any kind," Don hissed, grasping Charlie's right wrist, "Officially; I'm not even supposed to be here. I've been threatened with dismissal if I try to help you."

Charlie swallowed hard and muttered something.

"What did you say, Charlie?" Don hissed, "I didn't quite catch that."

The mathematician cleared his throat, "I have protection," he repeated, aware of how lame that sounded, considering recent events.

"Do you really trust this so called 'protection', _little brother_?" Don demanded, "Because you're a damned fool, if you do." His grasp on Charlie's wrist tightened, "Why don't you ask your girlfriend if she trusts it? I wonder what she will have to say, oh yeah, I guess she can't say anything."

Charlie froze. He felt as if his blood had turned to ice water in his veins. Don's words were a dagger through his heart. He would never be able to forget them. His arm throbbed under Don's vice like grip, but the pain inflicted by his words was infinitely worse. "What choice do I have, _big brother_?" he whispered, matching Don's sarcastic inflection.

Charlie felt a shudder go through his body. He squeezed his stinging eyes shut. He looked down, no longer able to meet his brother's searing gaze. He could _not _let Don see his pain. If Don squeezed his wrist hard enough to break the bones, he would not make a sound and he defiantly would _never_ let his brother see him cry. He would _not_ be the weak, cowering Charlie he was sure Don expected.

Don Eppes felt like the lowest creature on the face of the earth. He was completely disgusted with himself for what he had just said. All the apologies in the world could not cover it. He wished to the deepest part of his soul, that he could take back those last words, but he could not. They hung in the air like a black cloud between his younger brother and himself. He had not come here to hurt Charlie, but he had — deeply.

Don wished he could make his brother appreciate how petrified he was at the prospect that he might have to bury someone very dear to him; and just how intensely frustrating it was that his myriad skills, all his training and all his resources added up to naught as far as protecting his brother was concerned. The knowledge that he could easily lose Charlie forever was eating him up inside, and fear had made him lash out at the very person he wanted most to help.

He relaxed his hold on his brother's wrist and gingerly touched the bruises he had left there, "I hurt you!" he said, "I'm so sorry. I never meant to…"

"Yes you did, Don. You meant it." Charlie said, pulling his hand free, still unable to look into his brother's eyes.

"Buddy, you know that's not true! I would never intentionally harm you. I'm just so worried that I over- reacted. Charlie, I'm not sure I could handle it if I lost you." What more he could say at this point?

The two brothers stood in silence, neither of them sure of what to do next.

Finally Charlie was the one to break the impasse, "I know," he said with a heavy sigh, "Of course, I know you didn't mean it. Forget about it. It doesn't matter." Charlie could forgive the bruises, but the words had been branded on his soul. They would never go away.

Don placed his hand under his brother's chin, gently lifting Charlie's head and turned his face towards his own. He frowned at the exhaustion he saw there. He frowned at the dark circles under his brother's deep brown eyes and at the pallor of his skin. Charlie had lost weight he couldn't afford to lose giving him the appearance of someone who had been seriously ill for a very long time, "God, you look like hell!" Don said quietly.

"I could say the same about you," Charlie said. "I've seen you looking a bit more… chipper." He scowled. He wasn't sure 'chipper' was a word he could ever use to describe Don. Even on a good day, the FBI agent came off as a bit somber.

"This is why you sent Dad away, isn't it?" Don asked, stepping closer to his brother, "You wanted to keep him safe."

Charlie shrugged, "Hey, I just thought Dad could use a nice vacation. Can't I be generous sometimes?"

"Right," Don gave a quick laugh. "And in a secret life, I dance with the City Ballet. We're doing Swan Lake next month. I'll make sure you get tickets."

Charlie cringed, "Think I'll pass on that one. The sight of you wearing tights and jumping around like Baryshnikov is a sight I don't need. Ugh! I have to get that picture out of my head. That way madness lies!" A smile touched his lips, "But Robin might enjoy it or better yet, that new guy at the front desk. I've caught him eyeing your ass more than once."

"Hey, just because you're in trouble does not mean you can get insolent with me." Don grinned.

"I don't know; he does drive that red sports car. You could do worse. Maybe I'll be getting a brother in-law instead of a sister in-law. That would kind of put the kibosh to Dad's plans for grandchildren, unless you two adopt, of course." Charlie laughed, gasping as his brother grabbed the pillow off the nearest chair and whacked him with it.

Don's laughter joined Charlie's, "You are such an impudent brat!" He ruffled his younger brother's hair and for a few precious moments, they could forget their troubles and just be the Eppes brothers.

* * *

Gunnery Sergeant Michael Thomas Donovan joined the Marines the day he turned eighteen and aged out of the foster care system in Detroit, and a week after he graduated from high school. He had served his country loyally and with great pride for fifteen years and upon leaving the Corp, he had immediately been recruited by Fer de Lance, a private paramilitary organization ran by Colonel Jeremiah Harrington USMC (Ret). He was a man who had spent most of his life following orders; a man who had lived a life of duty, honor, and sacrifice. He did not regret these things, nor did he bemoan the loneliness his choices had inflicted on his life. It was a price he had willingly paid and he never doubted, not for one second, the validity of his choices — until now.

Yes — he had his orders, and GySgt Donovan knew that following orders was a soldier's way, but if the bloody history of this war-weary old world has taught us anything, it is that _blindly_ following orders can only lead to disaster and immense tragedy. He glanced at the stove, noting the time in glowing, digital numbers. He had a decision to make and he had to hurry. Time was running out for his charge. He could hear the voices of the two brothers filtering in from the next room. He could not make out their words, but he could hear the pain clearly evident there, even through the laughter.

Mike rarely, if ever, got to know the people he was assigned to 'escort'. Normally, they were heads of state, or some other equally useless dignitary. Usually, he wasn't even allowed to speak to them, which was fine because usually he did not want to. Eppes was his first mathematician and, if the fates had any decency at all, his last. Of all the important, powerful and influential people he had been hired to protect over the years, this small, curly haired, infuriating, math geek, college professor, had been the first to get under his skin. Normally Eppes was the kind of person the soldier had little or no respect for. He was an intellectual who had lived his entire life breathing the rarefied air of the academic world. He came from privilege, and had probably never wanted for a thing his entire life. He had grown up sheltered, loved and spoiled; not the kind of man for which Mike had much use.

So why, after a mere two weeks of guarding Dr. Eppes, was he on the verge of trashing every principle around which he had built his life? The answer was simple. Unlike so many of the dignitaries he had guarded in the past, Eppes was a good, decent man. His loyalty to those he loved was absolute and unwavering. He was willing to sacrifice his own safety and well-being to keep them safe.

When they had lost the girl, Mike was certain Eppes would fall apart and run like a whipped pup to hide under his big brother's skirts. Instead he had shown more strength and fortitude than Mike would ever have given him credit for possessing. Though he was clearly terrified, and in spite of such unbearable grief and loss, he never lost his resolve. He would do what he had to do to see his mission to its end. Charlie had more than earned the Marine's respect and that was not easy.

Mike Donovan had come to know Dr. Charles Eppes as man of honor. Unfortunately, he was also a man Harrington was willing to sacrifice in the name of some unknown agenda of his own. Despite his advice that they move Eppes to a safer location, Harrington still insisted they try and lure this madman into the open by using the professor as bait. This plan had a better chance of getting Charlie killed than it did catching a lunatic. GySgt Donovan narrowed his eyes. It was not going to happen. Not on his watch. Eppes' might be an academic who served from the safety of a think-tank. He had never spent a day crawling on his belly through the mud with bullets zinging over his head. His side arm was math, not a Sig Sauer, he wielded brainpower, not an M-40A3, still he was as much Fer de Lance as any other of Harrington's recruits. He was a brother-in-arms (without any actual 'arms'). He deserved respect and the best possible protection the organization had to offer. Anything less was bullshit.

Mike began humming an old Bob Seger song as he nonchalantly made a pot of coffee, the second of the day. Apparently genius/mathematician/ college professors were just as addicted to the stuff as ex-marine/mercs. He dug through his satchel and found the manila envelope he had stashed there earlier. There was only one thing left to do. He only hoped the Eppes brothers caught on quickly. He was never sure with civilians. He leaned over, out of view of the cameras. He tucked the envelope in the waist band of his fatigues behind the ever present Sig Tactical and covered it with his tee shirt. The decision was made. The time for weighing his options was over. It was now time for action.

* * *

"Gentleman," he said loudly interrupting the brothers.

Charlie looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Don looked like he wanted to kill him for once again coming in-between his brother and himself.

"I have a pot of coffee brewing," his phony smile reminded Charlie of the Cheshire Cat. Mike looked around the room as if inspecting it. "You know, it's too quiet in here. Eppes, I think we can use some music." he grabbed a CD off the shelf and, without stopping to read the cover, and shoved it in the player. He turned the volume up all the way; hit play and Anaai Nathrakh's '_In_ _the Constellation of the Black Widow'_ blasted from the speakers. Both the FBI agent and the bodyguard looked at the mathematician, who only averted his eyes, grinned sheepishly and tried to look innocent.

Mike leaned in close and whispered to both brothers, "Charlie, tell your asshole brother everything you know. I understand it's not much, but any information you have might help."

Charlie started to argue, but Mike was having none of it, "We've done everything we can from here to solve this thing. You're in imminent danger. It's time to bring in someone from the outside — someone Harrington doesn't own. I know you want to protect your brother. It's admirable that you do, but right now, it's tremendously stupid. He's a trained federal agent. He can take care of himself and he can decide for himself if he's willing to risk his career and his neck to help you," again Charlie started to protest, "Eppes, _shut__–__ the__–__fuck__–__up_!" Mike used the same tone he used on raw recruits who just couldn't button their flapping lips.

He turned his attention to Don. He leaned in further and removed the envelope from his shirt, "Take this, if you're willing to help. Hide it. The information in it explains some things, but there is a lot we do not know. Maybe the answers are in here or maybe not. That's for you to figure out. "

"There is something very wrong with this whole thing, I mean, there's something that just does not add up." Charlie interrupted.

Both men looked at him, "Like what?" Mike asked, "And please, look up the word 'brevity' and don't go into one of your long winded explanations about skipping stones across a pond or geese flying in a rain storm complete with algorithms to back it up. We don't have the time."

Charlie looked a little insulted as he always did when someone put down his beloved math. He cleared his throat and made a concentrated effort not to gesture like he did when explaining his findings to the team, "With all the guards and all the cameras watching us, how did this nut job get access to my car or to the gallery?"

Charlie looked from Mike to Don, "I mean — there has to be someone on the inside, someone who knows the security system, can disable it and who knows our schedules. He either _has_ direct access or is close enough to gain access to the information." Charlie looked up at the two taller men, "I think we have a mole." He sneered at Mike, "See, not one skipping stone, flying goose or algorithm. I KNOW the meaning of brevity."

"You figured that out all by yourself, did you? I guess Harrington recruited you for a reason." Mike said smiling. "Well, that narrows it down to fewer than eight people." He turned to Don. "The name of every person involved is in that envelope. Are you willing to help, even if it costs you your nice federal job and fat pension if you get caught?"

Don didn't hesitate. He took the envelope and stuffed it inside his own shirt. "Why?" He asked. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm still working on that one myself and besides," Mike nodded towards Charlie. "He sort of reminds me of this Papillion dog that belonged to a woman I lived with for a while. I think it's the eyes. That was one annoying, yappy little beast. He was constantly under foot, but sort of grew on me after a while."

Charlie looked offended when Don laughed. Mike smacked Charlie on the back of the head, "You, talk to your brother and make it quick. He needs to get out of here." He spun on his heels and headed for the kitchen and yet another cup of coffee."And turn that shit down. It sounds like someone is gutting a water buffalo." He shouted over his shoulder as he left.

*******************

Agent Don Eppes had never appreciated his team more than he did that day. After leaving his brother's house, he drove around for a while making sure no one was following him. He stopped at a park long enough to borrow a phone from a stranger. He called David Sinclair and asked that he get everyone together and that they meet him at his apartment, no questions asked, and they were to tell no one. Less than an hour later, they had gathered in his living room.

"Colby, you interviewed Donovan, what was your impression?" Don asked.

Colby thought for a moment, "He's ex-military, probably black ops, very highly trained, and very experienced. He's the kind of man who can creep into an enemy camp at night, cut a dozen throats, creep back out completely undetected and enjoy his bacon and eggs with his buddies by dawn. If I needed a bodyguard, he'd be my choice."

Don nodded, "Have you ever heard of Fer de Lance?" he asked.

"I assume you don't mean the viper," Colby nodded, "Yeah, they're paramilitary, a so called private army. They sometimes work with the military through the DOD. _Officially_ they are only allowed to guard or act as escorts. Most of them are ex Seals, Marines, Rangers, the elite of the elite."

"And what about unofficially?" Don asked, rubbing his eyes. He could feel another headache coming on. His brother should be branded as a carrier of migraines.

"That's another matter entirely. These are the guys the NSA or the DOD sends to places we aren't supposed to be to do things we will probably never hear about." Colby suddenly got it, "So Donovan is Fer de Lance. Well I guess that explains a few things."

"Don, where are you going with this?" David Sinclair interrupted.

"Did any of you get any information before the case was yanked out of our hands? I know we were ordered to drop it and turn everything over, but…"

David, Colby, Nikki and Liz exchanged glances.

"We may have accidently copied everything before we turned it over." David said, "And it's possible we brought our copies with us. I mean, we didn't have time to properly file them. They could have gotten lost if we just left them lying around."

"Great!" Don said, "Look, just leave everything you have. I'll take care of it. You guys can take off. You've done too much already. I can't ask any more of you."

"Boss," Colby Grainger said, crossing his arms, "you can write me up if you have to, but I'm disobeying a direct order."

"I guess you have to write us all up," David added. "Because we are not letting you do this alone."

"Charlie would be there for any of us," Colby said. "We can't let him down when he needs us."

"Besides, we've already contacted Larry Fleinhardt." Nikki said, "We really need Charlie, but we obviously can't have him, so we're going to the next best thing."

"Don, I'm not sure what Charlie is involved in, but when I tried to run a background on him," David looked surprised, "I hit wall after wall. Your brother is a freaking ghost. I ran into the same thing with Donovan and Meyers. I was afraid to dig any deeper. I didn't want to set off any alarms. No doubt Charlie is flagged. "

"The Bureau ran a thorough background check when he came on as a consultant. Can't you get that?" Don asked.

"Did you see it?" David asked.

"No, of course not, it's confidential."

"It's more than that. It's nonexistent. I'm guessing it has something to do with his high security clearance. Either that, or he really is a robot like Grainger here says." David replied.

"Did you ask him about this Agency he mentioned when we questioned him?" Colby asked.

Don rolled his eyes. "I asked him if the NSA was involved. He said no, so I asked him about the CIA."

"And…?" Colby asked.

"He said if he was talking about the CIA, he would have said 'The Company'." Don shook his head, "I damn near strangled him."

The team laughed, each of them picturing their boss with his hands around the mathematician's neck and Charlie with his tongue and eyes bulging out like Bart Simpson.

"Look, guys, the Director was very clear; this is not an FBI concern. He essentially threatened my job." Don closed his eyes for a second, "Charlie told me not to risk my career for him. He drives me crazy, but he's my little brother. I have to do something. I couldn't live with myself if I just abandoned him." He opened his eyes and looked at his team, "Charlie is not your responsibility. You are under no obligation to…"

"Don, we are wasting time. Fleinhardt will be here in about twenty minutes. We need to get all the information we have together to see what we can come up with." David said, cutting Don off in mid-sentence, "It looks like it's going to be a late night, so I hope you have plenty of coffee in the house."

"You have no idea how much this means to me and to…" Don started to add.

"Boss," Colby chimed in. "We need to get to work."

Don nodded and tossed the envelope Mike Donovan had given him on the table. "We can start with this."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Six

_Sometimes the Dragon Wins_

After the brothers completed their discussion, Mike escorted Don Eppes to the door. Not a word passed between them. No words were required. Each knew what had to be done. Each knew their part. Charlie stood in silence watching his brother leave. Just before the door closed behind him, Don turned. He smiled and nodded as if to say, _'Hang in there, Buddy, everything is going to be okay._' Charlie felt an ache deep in his chest.

_'I may never see him again!' _The realization hit him like a blow to the gut. A deep, inexorable sadness nearly floored him. It was difficult but, Charlie resisted the urge to run and hug his departing brother. He had to keep himself under control. There could be no overt displays of emotion. There could be nothing to give their plans away; not even the slightest hint that Don had been recruited into their scheme.

He gave his older brother a small smile and a nod in return. It was not much, but it would have to do. _'When this over, I'm going to give him a huge hug whether he likes it or not.' _The professor thought.

After the FBI agent departed, Mike Donovan briefly checked the front of the house. Then, shutting the large oak door, he secured the deadbolts. Glancing at his charge, he pulled out his cell and dialed.

"God, please not another scream fest with Harrington!" Charlie moaned, running his hand through his unkempt hair. He sank down in the closest chair. He was feeling a little light headed and getting extremely aggravated at the constant ringing in his ears.

Donovan ignored him and continued to babble away in a low, steady voice. As he spoke, he moved with quick, deliberate steps from the foyer to the guest room. He returned with a pillow and two blankets. He tossed them on the couch.

"Dobson, make sure someone recons the area every hour, and I want reports…" he scowled, "Yeah, I know it's been quiet, but keep your eyes open. I've got a feeling things are going to get interesting real soon and listen; I need either you or Bradley to make sure the exterior is absolutely secure…" the Marine clinched his fist. "I know you just checked. I want you to check it out again. This is an order, not a suggestion. My phone will be on, but I'm going to try and get some rest. If you call, let it ring, just make sure you notify me right away if anything looks suspicious, I mean ANYTHING, Dobson! If a squirrel is acting peculiar, I want to know about it!"He snapped the phone shut.

Mike tucked one of the blankets into the cushions of the couch. He motioned at Charlie, "Here, kick off your shoes and lay down. You need rest." It was not a request. There was no polite 'please' in his voice.

"I don't want to…" Charlie started to say.

"Eppes, I didn't ask you what you want, I _ordered_ you to get some sleep."

"You can't order me to do anything!" Charlie started to argue, "You …" but his words faltered and his eyes grew wide at the much larger man's viper-like gaze. "I guess I stand corrected," the professor said softly as he rose from his chair.

"Look, I know how hard it is for you to sleep right now, but you are on the verge of collapse. For your own safety, I need for you to be strong and alert, not dead on your feet. We both have to be ready for anything." He waited for Charlie to lie down. He tossed the other blanket over the mathematician. "I'm going to crash in that chair. I'll be right here if you need me."

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in the guest room?" Charlie asked, yawning.

GySgt Donovan smiled, "Son, I've slept in a muck filled hole with nothing but a rock for a pillow. For me, this chair is like the Ritz. Now, shut up and get some sleep." He pulled the chair close to the coffee table and settled down. Resting his feet on the table, Mike closed his eyes.

Charlie sighed. He tossed the blanket aside and stood up, all too aware of Donovan's gray eyes, now open and following his every move. He grabbed a newspaper and lifted the marine's combat booted feet; he slipped the newspaper under them.

"Dad will kill me if you scratch Mom's table." He said, tossing the blanket over his bodyguard.

The mathematician pulled the other blanket free from the cushions and lay down. He had tried to fight it, but he could not. It had been days since he had slept and he had finally hit the proverbial wall. If Mike had not forced him to lie down, he would have fallen down. He turned onto his right side and pulled the soft, warm blanket up past his chin until only the top of his curly hair stuck out. Feeling exhaustion overwhelming him, his eyes closed and he fell into a deep, dreamless and long overdue slumber.

Charlie was not sure how long he had slept. He was only aware that it had been late afternoon when he lay down on the couch and night when he woke. He sat up, feeling a bit groggy, but not nearly as close to collapse as he had been before his nap, and even better, the maddening ringing in his ears had ceased.

He slipped his sneakers on his feet and looked around. He appeared to be alone. The chair was still pulled up to the coffee table but the blanket was tossed over its back, and Mike was nowhere to be seen. Charlie began to speculate that his bodyguard had, and probably wisely so, decided this whole mission was futile and had jumped ship, when he heard the sounds of pans clinking from the kitchen and the smell of hot food wafted across the room. He saw the kitchen door swing open and Donovan appeared, carrying two plates.

"Great, you're awake and just in time. Dinner's ready." The marine said, as he sat two plates piled high with steaming, hot food on the table. "Why don't you make yourself useful and grab some utensils? What would you like to drink? A merlot would be my first choice, but I'd rather avoid alcohol right now. We both need to keep our wits about us. How about coffee?"

"Coffee's fine," Charlie said, almost bringing up the subject of the bourbon they had consumed earlier but he decided those were words better left unsaid.

He stood up yawned and stretched. He shuffled into the kitchen, retrieving the utensils from the drawer and the salt and pepper shakers from the counter. He sat them on the table as Mike filled two coffee mugs. The soldier took the pot back to the kitchen and returned with a plate of rolls and a stick of butter.

"Eppes, why are you standing there?" Mike said as he sat down in the chair usually occupied by Alan Eppes, "The food is getting cold."

"You can cook?" Charlie asked as he took his normal seat.

"I'm a great cook. You've eaten my food before."

"Yeah, scrambled eggs or burgers, that's not exactly gourmet cuisine. We usually just get delivery. This is real food." He poked at the plate, looking unconvinced. "What is it anyway?"

"That, Professor is thin sliced prime beef, pan seared with Cajun seasonings, rice pilaf, steamed broccoli, and hot rolls. Try it, it's my own recipe. I sent Dobson to the store to pick up the fixings while you were asleep. I decided we needed something more substantial than pizza or take out Chinese." Mike grabbed a roll and smeared it with butter.

Charlie picked up his knife and fork and cautiously took a bite of the meat. "This is good." he said, unable to hide his surprise. "Is that real butter? Be careful, the California Food Police will be knocking at the door."

Mike grinned, "Make sure you eat all the meat. That's high quality protein there. Good for keeping your strength up."

After his initial test bite, the normally picky eater was shocked to find that he was actually starving. He took another bite of the savory beef and grabbed a roll.

The two men ate in silence for a while. "Why do you call me Eppes?" Charlie asked, breaking the lull and nibbling at his roll.

"What?" Mike looked up from his plate.

"Sometimes you call me Charlie, but most of the time, you call me Eppes. Is that a military thing?"

Mike shrugged. "I guess it's a military thing. When I call you Charlie, you seem a little distracted. Eppes seems to more readily get your attention."

"Being distracted seems to be a way of life for me. The absent minded professor syndrome, it's just that…"

"It's just that, what?" Mike asked.

"Sometimes, when you snap 'EPPES', I expect you to order me to drop and give you twenty. FYI, math professors don't do that, just in case the idea ever enters your head." Charlie said, taking a bite of his rice.

Mike chuckled.

"So, you and your brother, are you two close?" Mike took a sip of his coffee.

"I'd like for us to be closer." Charlie said, "I'm not sure Don wants the same. He seems happy with the status quo. We spent a lot of years apart, years when we didn't speak one word to each other. We get along better now; still—I think he resents me. He denies it, but I can tell he does. I can't blame him. I've been a pain in his ass since the day I was born. I guess I was very high maintenance kid and Don was sort of pushed aside a lot."

"You mean because you're gifted?"

Charlie nodded, "You know what's really funny about the whole thing?" Charlie took a sip of his coffee, "I know something about this 'gift' neither Don, nor Dad knows. It's been my little secret since I was about thirteen."

"And what would that be?" Mike asked.

"I know that one day, this thing they call my 'genius' could break me and that knowledge scares the hell out me," Charlie looked at his coffee cup. "I can never turn the math off. It's always there day and night, waking and sleeping, it never goes away. It's truly exhausting at times."

"If I'm working on a theory or if an idea comes into my head it's like my brain goes into over drive. I go for days without sleeping or eating. Don and Dad think I'm just being obtuse and that I can stop at any time. They just don't understand that, when I'm working, I have very little awareness of anything around me except the voices muttering all these numbers in my head." He looked at Mike, "I'm afraid that one day I will simply disappear into my own mind and never be able to find my way back; no more genius, no more Charlie."

"It's a fine line between madness and genius and you're worried about crossing that line." Mike said, nodding.

"Yeah, that's precisely it." Charlie said, "I can't discuss that kind of thing with my family. They would never understand. They'd just think it's just Charlie being self-absorbed again. They have no idea how much I'd love to be able to flip a switch and find a little inner— silence."

"I don't know. You seem pretty together, in an irritating yappy, little dog kind of way." Mike said.

Charlie grinned. "You didn't try to teach me to drive. Dad, Don and Larry were ready to pool together and hire a driver for me rather than set me loose on the unsuspecting streets of L.A. in a two thousand pound weapon."

"Well, before you start wearing aluminum foil hats and talking to invisible aliens, lets' clean up the kitchen." Mike said, handing a plate to the professor.

"That's weird. I just told a man I met a couple of weeks ago things I've never told anyone, not even Larry and I have no idea why." Charlie said, as they rinsed the plates and loaded the dishwasher.

"It's because we've been tossed together in extreme circumstances. It happens a lot with troops under battle conditions. People who, if they were to meet in normal situations, would never give each other the time of day become closer than family, at least for a while." Mike said as he wiped the sink area down, making sure he cleaned every spot.

"You know, the first time you walked through that door, I was afraid of you." Charlie said.

"Really Professor, why would be you afraid of the person hired to guard your ass?"

Charlie looked a bit embarrassed, "You are pretty daunting you know. For one thing, you are really big and you have eyes like a snake. At first glance, you sort of look like that wrestler, Randy something. For the first week, you barely said two words to me. You would just scowl and stare at me like I was a rabbit and you were a hawk circling above ready to swoop down and make me your dinner. I was pretty intimidated."

Mike stood with his hands on his hips, "I barely spoke to you because you struck me as an elitist jerk who thought he was better than the rest of us. You never spoke to me either, by the way." He glared at Charlie. "You think I look like Randy Orton?"

"I didn't think I was better than you! I was just alarmed by you, and yeah— you kind of look like him."

Mike smiled, "I guess we both jumped to hasty conclusions at first but — Randy Orton? Come on!"

"I think it's the hair or the lack of hair." Charlie grinned and stepped back as Mike took a step towards him.

"Your brother is right. You are an insolent brat." Mike frowned.

"GySgt Donovan, can I ask you something?" Charlie asked as he wiped down the counters, a sly look in his dark eyes.

"Go ahead." Mike said.

"What is the significance of oo--rah and why do you say it?"

Mike shook his head as each man grabbed another cup of coffee and walked from the newly cleaned kitchen. Charlie turned out the lights as they left. "It's not oo--rah like some high school cheerleader. You have to really feel it! _OORAH! _It comesfrom your gut. Now try it again."

_"Oorah!" _Charlie tried again then pounded his chest and pretended to cough.

Mike laughed, "We'll work on it. It's like saying 'Yeah, Marine! It's an acknowledgment. Is there anything else you want to ask?"

"Let me think about that." Charlie said, his eyes resting on the chess board Alan Eppes kept permanently set up in hopes of a game; a game with anyone, that is, except his genius son. "Do you play?" the mathematician coyly asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Mike sat down behind the white pieces.

"I guess I'm black." Charlie was not about to instruct GySgt Donovan in proper chess etiquette.

The two men played a couple of games. Charlie was both pleased and surprised to find someone whose skills was almost a match for his own. Two hours later, they were one for one and the third game ended in a stalemate. When the fourth threatened to go on for a while, both men realized they were tired of playing and needed to unwind.

They decided to watch a movie to take their minds off their situation. Charlie told Mike to decide what to play since he did not care, as long as it was not violent. He was not in the mood for blood and guts. The first movie Mike pulled out of the stack was _Sweet Home Alabama_. He looked at Charlie with raised eyebrows.

"My ex left that here, I swear." Charlie said, blushing to his ears. He grabbed the offending DVD and tossed it in the trash.

The search continued for a movie that did not require a great deal of concentration to enjoy. Neither man wanted to have to think about what they were watching. In fact, they both really wanted a good laugh. In the end, it was a tossup between _Young Frankenstein_ and _Monty Python and the Holy Grail. _Monty Python won. Charlie made popcorn while Mike put the movie in the DVD player, and they settled down to enjoy Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam and the rest of the merry crew on their hilarious quest. They were never to see the movie to its comical end. Sir Lancelot had just broken in to Prince Herbert's tower room to rescue the 'damsel in distress' when their their pleasant evening spun into a hellish nightmare.

It began quietly, almost stealthily. One by one the monitors began to fail. The two men would have been taken totally by surprise if Mike had not happened to glance up just as the last screen went to snow. "Charlie!" he yelled grabbing his charge by the neck of his tee shirt and dragging him out of the chair. At that moment the house was plunged into darkness. The marine pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and attempted to dial. There was no signal. Charlie tried his; nothing except interference.

"We're being jammed — fuck!" Donovan said under his breath and drawing his gun.

Charlie tried the house phone, "It's dead!" he said, cold terror entering his heart.

Mike put his body in front of Charlie's."Stay close! We're going to try and —"

Charlie shouted as a projectile crashed through the front window and lodged in the far wall. Mike was backing him towards the kitchen, shielding him with his own body. "Listen, we're going to try and get out through the garage, understand?"

"Yeah, I understand." Charlie whispered.

"Okay, are you ready?" Mike asked.

Charlie nodded.

Mike turned around and shoved Charlie, "Now, run, I'm right behind you."

Charlie dashed for the back door, jerking it open, he charged down the wooden steps. It was pitch black and he couldn't see. He nearly tripped once and Mike grabbed his arm to steady him. They were almost to the metal garage door when Charlie heard a muffled pop from the direction of the stairs. He felt Mike jerk and heard him groan. Suddenly his garage, his _sanctuary _filled with the pungent stench of gun powder. Mike slumped against him. Charlie wrapped his arms around the much larger man, struggling to support his weight. He heard Mike's gun fall to the concrete floor. He managed to unlock and push the metal garage door up without letting go of Mike and they stumbled out into the back yard.

GySgt Mike Donovan could no longer run. The pain was excruciating and he was getting cold and weak. He felt himself slipping to the ground. Charlie was still holding him, trying not to drop him. This was not the way it was supposed to be. He was supposed to save the professor, not the other way around. Breathing was becoming difficult. In the dim glow of moonlight, he could just make out Charlie's worried face.

"I didn't hear a gunshot!" the professor gasped.

Mike fought for the strength to speak, "He used a suppressor! Charlie, you have to run!"

"No! You need help. You know the rules. We never leave anyone behind." He was attempting to lift the fallen bodyguard, "If you can get to your feet and lean on me…"

"Eppes, you can't help me. You need to get out of here right, now."

"I will not leave you!" Charlie insisted.

Mike grabbed the professor's hands and shoved his mobile into them "Yes, you will. This is a direct order, Eppes. You WILL run as fast as you can. You WILL take my phone, get to a place that's safe and you WILL call your brother. You are to trust no one except Don, Charlie, only Don!" Mike groaned and gasped for air.

"I'm not sure I can do this alone." Charlie gripped Mike's hands. "I'm not a soldier."

"You are Fer de Lance! You CAN do this! Now get out of here, and Charlie; you fight for your life. Do you understand? Don't make this all for nothing. If you are captured, you do whatever you have to stay alive. Someone WILL come for you, I promise. This is the promise of a Marine." He squeezed Charlie's hands tightly and met his horrified, eyes Mike took a deep ragged breath. "Now RUN!" Mike used his last remaining bit of strength to shove the trembling mathematician away. His eyes closed, he gasped and was silent.

"God, please no!" Charlie moaned. He stood, his eyes glued to Mike's face, hoping to see his friend take another breath, but Mike Donovan lay absolutely still. He started to run for the street when he saw Frank Dobson emerge from the darkness of the garage.

_'Think God!_' he thought, _'Frank will help us_!" Then he saw Frank's arm rise. He saw the gun aimed straight at his head and he understood. Frank had shot Mike. Frank had betrayed them all. For a moment Charlie truly believed he was going to die right there at Mike's side, just a few feet from his cherished koi pond. Dobson smiled the coldest smile Charlie thought he had ever or would ever see until a dark figure stepped out of the shadows, and grabbed Frank from behind and without a word, slit the grinning bastard's throat. Charlie heard the gurgles as the dying man struggled to breathe but instead choked on his own blood.

"Well, little fox, the hunt is on at last!" The figure hissed and took a step towards him, the moonlight glinting off the fresh blood dripping from the razor sharp blade in his right hand.

Charlie took one last look at Mike then spun on his heels and ran as fast as he could for the street. He immediately spotted the black sedan parked two houses down from his own. He knew it had to belong to the Agency. Why every damned government bureau or security agency had to use black sedans was beyond him. They might as well put a big sticker on the hood announcing their identity. He ran for the car but stumbled to a halt ten feet away.

Even from that distance, he could see the blood splattered windows and make out the bodies slumped over in the front seat. He thought he was going to scream and he would have, if it was not for the fear that one of his neighbors would try to help and meet the same fate as his bodyguards. He turned and ran down a side street. After cutting through strangers' backyards and ripping the flesh of his bare arms on someone's Bougainvillea, he wound up on a street he had never seen before.

Charlie stopped for a moment, leaning over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, struggling to ignore the pain in his side. When his breathing slowed, he stood up, hoping to get his bearings. He could see he was in a construction zone, but an abandoned one. Some of the houses were frames; some were finished, but vacant. There were no 'for sale' signs, no cars in driveways, no barking dogs. The only sound was the wind and the distant drone of traffic. Many of the houses had been vandalized, 'tagged' and marred by graffiti and gang signs. He thought he remembered his father and Don talking about this area. The development company ran out of money and the whole place was in foreclosure. No one would ever make their dreams come true here.

The professor pulled the phone out of his pocket. He hoped he could get a signal. He started to dial when he saw a car round the corner and speed in his direction. No car should be on this street. Charlie turned and ran in-between a row of houses. For a moment he thought he could escape that way, but the path ended at a high concrete wall and a pile of debris. He felt trapped like some pathetic animal. He had little strength left. He leaned against the exterior of an abandoned house, taking deep breaths. He noticed the window was slightly ajar. He shoved it up the rest of the way, slid inside and slammed it shut.

Charlie crashed to the floor in a heap. He sat, leaning against the wall trying to get his heart to stop pounding and holding his aching side. He looked around. The house reeked of urine and filth. Empty liquor bottles and discarded hypodermic needles were strewn everywhere. Charlie was glad he managed to avoid stabbing himself on one of the filthy needles when he crawled through the window. The thought of what deadly pathogens had to be brewing there made him ill.

Charlie knew he could go no further on his own. He had to try and call Don. He lifted the phone and prayed for bars, but before he got the chance to dial, he heard the crunch of heavy footsteps in the gravel just outside of his hiding place. He held his breath, leaning against the wall beneath the window and trying to make himself as small and still as possible. The thought entered his head that Harrington might try to call Mike's phone and if that happened it would give away his position. He deftly opened the back and removed the battery causing the phone to soundlessly shut down.

"Little fox, little fox come out of your den and play with me!" The voice hissed in a low, malicious singsong voice, like a villain in some twisted child's game. There was a long pause, "So, you want to continue with the hunt. It's futile, you know. You're only making things harder on yourself. Me— I can go on all night. Show yourself and we can go out for a latte." Charlie cringed at the icy laughter.

The footsteps seemed to be moving away. For a split second Charlie thought his pursuer was leaving and he would be able to put the battery back in the phone and call Don. All hope of that was lost as the window shattered and shards of glass rained down on him from above. He yelled and tried to move, but hands reached down and wrapped a coarse rope around his neck. He was roughly hauled up through jagged glass and over the windowsill.

"See, little fox, the hound always wins."

Charlie clawed at the rope fighting to free himself, but brutal hands tightened the noose. The mathematician was in agony. He fought for air, but it was no use. Sparks floated before his eyes. He was losing consciousness and he knew if he did, he was dead.

"Listen to me you little fool, soon your arms and legs will cease to work." The voice hissed in his ear, "That magnificent brain of yours is shutting down all unnecessary functions. Your eyesight will fail and your heart will go into arrhythmia, then you will die. Stop struggling and I will let you breathe. Keep fighting and I will choke the life out of you right here."

It took all of his concentration, but Charlie forced himself to stop struggling. Almost immediately the rope was jerked from around his neck. He was on his knees gasping, his hands rubbing his raw throat. Before he had a chance to move, a boot was planted firmly between his shoulder blades, forcing him to lay face down in the dirt. His arms were jerked behind his back and his wrists bound with the same rope that nearly throttled him. Duct tape was plastered over his mouth and a bandana tightly covered his eyes. He was grabbed by the neck of his tee shirt and hair and hauled to his feet. He was dragged a short distance and tossed into the trunk of a car.

"We have one more stop to make, so, little fox, you behave yourself or I'll be forced to punish you and believe me, you don't want that." the trunk was slammed shut. Charlie heard his kidnapper shut the car door. The engine started and they began to move.

Charlie wasn't sure how long they drove. He knew it had to be at least twenty minutes, maybe more. He was shivering. It was a chilly October night and he was only wearing jeans and a faded CalSci tee shirt. He was fighting panic. He knew he had broken a cardinal rule about abduction. He had allowed his assailant to take him to a second location. He was well aware he would probably be murdered there.

Charlie moaned as the car came to halt. His heart was beating so hard, he was sure it would tear out of his chest. He heard footsteps coming around the side of the car. The trunk flew open. Charlie could feel the night wind on his bare arms. He could hear his kidnaper singing softly in the quiet night,

_"You stand before your maker_

_In a state of shame_

_Because your robes are covered in mud_

_While you kneel at the feet_

_Of a woman in the street_

_The gutters will run with blood_

Charlie recoiled as a hand gently, almost lovingly stroked his hair then roughly grabbed a handful of his curls.

_**They will run with blood!**_

_**Run, Charlie, Run to City of Refuge, if you can"**_

The voice growled in his ears with genuine, bone deep hatred. Charlie felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his neck. A cold, heavy numbness was engulfing his body and his mind. His last thoughts were of Don. Charlie hoped Don found the letter he had left for him at the house. At least then, in some small way, he would have his chance to say goodbye. As Charlie fought to stay conscious, the sweet perfume of roses wafted over him. Cold steel cut into his flesh. He cried out, choking against the gag that covered his mouth and cruel hands pushed him beneath the surface of a cold, dark lake.

TCB


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Seven

_Grief and Platitudes_

He felt as if his heart had been broken into a thousand pieces. He felt as if he would never be whole again. How many times had he stood at crimes scenes just like this one? He couldn't begin to remember. How many times had he had to tell a desperate husband, wife, parent, or sibling that the search for their missing loved one had ended in tragedy? How many times had he watched as anguish replaced hope in their eyes? Far more times than he cared to recall. He could not say it had become routine. Those things _never_ become routine, but over the years, in self-preservation, he had developed a thick callous against the grief of others. If he had not, the job would have made him insane years ago. And there is that question, the one they all eventually asked— the one he now needed to ask, but feared the answer. "Did my brother suffer?"

What were the words they were all trained to say? "I'm sorry for your loss." He had never realized just how meaningless those words were. Not until now. Not until he was the desperate, bereaved family member standing behind crime scene tapes waiting for some word, any word from seemingly unfeeling law enforcement officials.

"I'm sorry for your loss." The words did not even begin to cover it.

Don Eppes closed his eyes. The night was chilly and damp. He barely noticed Colby Granger's hand on his shoulder.

"Don," he said softly. "I brought you some coffee."

Don took the Styrofoam cup from Colby, amazed that his hand didn't tremble.

"I promised him it would okay. I promised to keep him safe." Don's voice broke. "What made me think I could just rush in and protect him? I failed Charlie. I failed my brother."

"Don," Colby said, gently.

"What am I going to tell Dad?" Don asked, his voice hoarse with unshed tears, "How can I explain all of this to him? Oh God, Colby, I think this might kill him."

"Do you want one of us to call Alan? We can arrange for him to…"

Don took a ragged breath, "No, not yet. He's staying at a resort that doesn't allow television or cell phones. It's supposed to be a complete get away from the rat race. I think Charlie planned it that way. Let him enjoy his peace for a while longer."

"I've called the others. They're devastated, but they want to keep working. They want to find out who did this, Don. You know Charlie means a lot to all of us." Granger said, his voice tight with emotion.

Don only looked away. He appreciated how much his team cared for his family, but he couldn't deal with his own grief at the moment, much less anyone else's.

It had been ten hours since he had stood in the living room of Charlie's home; ten hours since Donovan had given him the envelope and he had walked out the door, giving Charlie that silent nod of assurance that big brother would take care of everything. Only ten hours, and in that short span of time, his life as he had known it ended; in that short span of time he had learned a great deal about his little brother's past — a great deal he wished he could forget.

*****************

_"The known participants of The Indigo Project," David Sinclair said picking up a photograph. One by one, he pointed at a smiling face. "Dr. Jon and Dr. David Hickman, AKA, Hicks, father and son, they headed up the project. Standing in the back row we have Dr. Ben Rodgers, Dr. Gary Pierson, Dr. Ron Fitzgerald, Dr. Matthew Langley and sitting in the front row, Ashley DeVoe and soon to be Dr. Charles Eppes." _

_Don took the photo and examined it. "Charlie must have been about eighteen or nineteen when this was taken." he smiled, "He doesn't look much different now."_

_David and Larry looked at each other. He handed Don a newspaper article and crime scene photos."Don, everyone in this photograph is deceased, except Charlie. Three years ago, the Hickman's bodies were found about ten miles from their home in Cambridge, MA. Both had their throats cut, both had been hung upside down so all the blood would drain from their bodies, both bodies were burned and buried in shallow graves. The ground was salted and a bouquet of three white roses and three black plumes along with an attached note written in the victim's blood, Vae Victis, it means…"_

_"I know what it means." Don said, taking the photographs and the article._

_David handed Don another set of photographs and a newspaper article. "A year and a half later Dr. Ben Rodgers was found in the woods several miles from his Charleston, N.C. home, again the same story, exactly, same method of killing the victim, same flowers, same note. Nearly a year after that, Dr. Gary Pierson was found in a remote field several miles from his home in Denver, CO. again exactly the same M.O. down to the three black plumes and the note. Dr. Ron Fitzgerald was found six months ago nine miles from his Tacoma, WA home."_

_"Let me guess, the same M.O." Don said, taking another article and set of photographs from David."So, do you think we have a serial?"_

_"I'm not sure. The closest match would be a mission oriented killer. We checked every crime data base in the country for similar murders. We found nothing. So far, he appears to be eliminating this particular group of people." David explained. "The flowers and the note certainly send a message. Woe to the vanquished. That's pretty threatening."_

_"Our guess is the reason none of these cases were linked before, is the amount of time between each murder and the fact that they were spread all across the country. We might never have made the connection if he hadn't sent that envelope to Harrington." Colby added._

_"Okay," Don said, "What else do we know?" _

_"At first we were going on the assumption that Dr. Mark Langley was still alive since there are no articles or evidence to the contrary. Larry and I attempted to reach him. We hoped he could clear up a few things for us."_

_"Well did you find him? Could he tell you anything?" Don rubbed his forehead._

_"We never found Langley himself. We did reach his former fiancée, one Professor Anna Marston-Bailey. She was a grad student at the time. He committed suicide about a week after that photograph was taken. He blew his brains out in the living room of the home he shared with the other project participants. She says he'd been losing it for a while, making wild accusations about the group, about Charlie, even about her. She became so frightened of him she was considering a restraining order." David said. _

_"Don, according to Prof. Bailey, Langley was planning to kill everyone in the house that night. Charlie tried to get the gun away from him. There was a struggle, but before anyone could stop him, he put the gun in his own mouth and fired. She said Langley appeared to be high when he did it, that he was screaming that there were demons taking over his mind and that something evil was in the house. I tried to get the autopsy report. It's sealed. I tried to play the FBI card. No dice. That report is going to stay sealed. In fact the only information we can get is rumor and conjecture." _

_"Charlie never said a word about any of this," Don said astounded._

_"You and Charles were not speaking at the time," Larry said. "Don, you were the last person he would have called."_

_"He couldn't have told Mom and Dad either. They would have called me right away."_

_"Charles was keeping his own counsel about many things during that period. He confided in no one, not me, not your parents, certainly not you. He was going through a very rough patch. I never knew what or why." Larry said, sadly. _

"_Larry, what did you find out about this Indigo Project?" Don asked, shaking his head._

_Larry ran his hands through his hair. He was dreading this part. "From what I gather, this was a private research project. The university did not sanction it nor did it fund it. In fact, they unequivocally deny any knowledge about the project, or the Hickman's." _

_"The only information we can find is either in that envelope or hearsay from Langley's fiancée." David added. "We do know the project lasted about six months and then was abruptly shut down and all paperwork, files, computers, everything pertaining to the project was confiscated by the government and is classified." _

_Larry hesitated. "Don, apparently there were rumors about this project and the Hickman's themselves. About a year and a half earlier, Jon Hickman was dismissed from his position at Boston University. No reason was cited. They decided he no longer suited their requirements. There were unsubstantiated reports of inappropriate relationships with students, but nothing on record." The next part was going to be thorny, considering what they had just learned about Langley." Have you ever heard of Project MKULTRA?"_

_"Sounds familiar," Don searched his memory._

_"During the 50's and into the late 60's the CIA, under the orders of Director Allen Dulles, ran interrogation and mind control research projects on often unsuspecting and unwilling subjects." Larry said, gesturing as he paced back and forth in front of the team, "At its height, more than thirty universities and institutions were believed to be involved. The experiments included using radiation, electronic waves, LSD and other drugs such as quinuclidinyl benzilate in order to control a subject's thoughts and actions. One experiment involved running an IV of barbiturates in one arm of a subject while an IV of amphetamines was administered in the other."_

_Larry stopped long enough to let the information sink in. "These people were without any morals or ethics. In some cases, volunteers were administered LSD for seventy-seven straight days." _

_"That type of thing was banned long ago, wasn't it?" Granger asked incredulously. _

_"Yes__—__technically. Much of it came to light in the seventies during a congressional investigation by the Church Committee and a presidential committee known as the Rockefeller Commission. An in-depth investigation of the project was hindered by then CIA Director Richard Helms who ordered the destruction of files and released so called disinformation to congress claiming the project had shut down. In reality, the experiments continued with LSD being administered, without their knowledge or consent, to subjects in social situations. Finally, thanks to President Gerald Ford, new regulations were passed outlawing such experiments without the participant's informed consent. In other words, you cannot conduct experiments on an unsuspecting subject, but if they volunteer…" He threw his hands up. "To this day, the exact details and findings of Project MKULTRA are highly classified."_

_Don looked stunned, unable to speak. Silently he considered the possibility that Charlie could have taken part in a similar project. Finally he shook his head. "No, no, I can't see Charlie being involved in anything like that. Charlie would never take drugs himself much less give them to someone else with or without their consent!"_

_"Nor can I, Don, nor can I. Charles would never take part in anything so heinous. I am only relating the rumors surrounding the project." Larry touched his fingers to his lips. "I am sure Charles was not personally involved with drug usage, but I cannot speak for the people around him. Something pushed Langley over the edge and caused him to take his own life. I can tell you, Charles was very secretive during that period." _

_Don narrowed his eyes, "I sense there's more."_

_David sat down beside Don, "The house the group shared was and still is owned by Jeremiah Harrington. The name of record on the lease during that period was Charles Eppes. Who is going to rent a four bedroom house in Cambridge, MA to an eighteen year old kid with very little if any income? How, even sharing the place, could a bunch of grad students possibly have afforded it? Apparently Charlie has been involved with this Harrington for quite a few years."_

_Don sighed. He had spent hours sitting with his team going over the contents of that damned envelope. Besides the articles detailing the murders and the group photograph, it also contained bone chilling individual photographs of each victim, candid shots taken on city streets, at work, and in their homes proving that this madman had stalked his victims like a hunter stalking its prey for weeks, perhaps months before he slaughtered them. _

_For Don, the most disturbing were those of his brother. Photos of Charlie dashing up the stairs of the math department building at CalSci, probably late for a lecture, Charlie teaching, or entering the FBI building, walking in the park near the house, and out to dinner with their father. Charlie and Ashley in that same park sitting close together, talking, holding hands and another of them kissing. There were several recent ones with Donovan and a few with an older man, obviously military, obviously important._

_The photographs of Charlie taken with a telephoto lens through the windows of the Craftsman were appalling enough, but his blood really ran cold when he saw the ones taken inside of the house, inside of Charlie's bedroom and the garage. _

_What was extremely alarming about the photographs was that of all of them, only the ones of his brother or his brother and Ashley were marred by a sharp instrument. Slash marks covered his brother's face and neck. This was a warning. This was pure hatred and personal, a vendetta against Charlie. What could his brother possibly have done to incur such wrath?_

_And that was when the call came from Colonel Harrington himself. Don needed to come immediately. A car was already on its way to pick him up and should arrive shortly. _

_"What's happened?" Don had demanded, but no answer was forth-coming._

_"Not over the phone." Harrington had said solemnly. "I'll tell you when you arrive." _

_"Colby, come with me. David, take care of things here. I'll call you as soon as I can." He had grabbed his jacket and ran from the apartment with Colby on his heels. _

_They met the car in the parking lot. The first thing Don did as he slid into the backseat of the town car was demand answers, but the driver was not at liberty to divulge anything. They drove to a remote area on the outskirts of town behind some abandoned warehouses. There Don saw the emergency vehicles and the crime scene tape. He tried to push his way past the barricade, but was stopped by several men in fatigues. He felt as if his knees had turned to rubber. He was getting ready to fight his way past the guards if he had to._

_Colby grabbed him and took him to the car. "Don, listen to me. We don't know what's going on yet! Just hold on!"_

_In a few minutes, one of the guards approached them, and that was when he heard the words directed at him for the first time._

_"Agent Eppes, please wait here. The Colonel will be with you shortly. I'm sorry for your loss, sir." he said and walked away. _

_*************_

A tall man, about fifty-five years of age approached them. He was an impressive figure, well over six feet tall with hawk like features, salt and pepper hair, the bearing of man who had spent most of his life in the military and was clearly accustomed to having his orders followed implicitly.

"Agent Eppes, and Agent Granger?" he asked.

"What's happened? Where's my brother? Where's Donovan." Don demanded.

"I'm Colonel Jeremiah Harrington." The man said, holding out his right hand for Don to shake.

"I don't give a shit WHO you are, answer my question!" Don ignored the gesture of civility.

"Agents, please follow me. Watch where you step, this is a crime scene."The Colonel lifted the tape for Don and Colby to duck under. "GySgt Donovan has been shot. Luckily, the bullet was a through and through. It didn't hit anything vital. He has lost quite a bit of blood, but he should recover." Harrington said as he led them to a black unmarked van.

"Where is Charlie?" Don all but shouted.

"Agent Eppes, One of my best men and a good soldier is in the hospital and three others are dead. We are dealing with a lot of issues here." He paused. "We did not find your brother at his home where we found Donovan and the others. We had equipped him with a tracking device in case anything like this happened. When the situation at his home became intense, we initiated a search. We tracked him here."

"And…?" fear like bile began to rise in Don's throat.

"At first, we didn't find anything. This is a large area, filled with debris, and it's very dark. We finally found this near an olive tree." He reached in the van and picked up an evidence bag containing a bouquet of faded, blood stained white roses and black plumes. Attached was a note written in blood on parchment, exactly like the ones in the crime scene photos.

Don felt like the earth was going to open up and consume him and, as Harrington spoke, he PRAYED the earth would open up and consume him before he had to hear any more. He felt Colby's grip tighten on his shoulder.

"We brought in the cadaver dogs to aid in the search. So far we believe we have found at least ten bodies scattered throughout the area. There are probably more. It looks like this field has been used as a body dump for a while. Most of them have been here for months and are badly decomposed and dismembered. In the grave marked by these flowers we found a fresh body, but it was burned beyond recognition. So far we can tell the remains are male and slight of stature. The wrists were bound by rope and the throat appears to have been slashed. Further on-sight identification is complicated by that fact the body was burned and that the skull and the face have been bashed in. The teeth were removed, so we cannot use dental records to confirm that the body is Dr. Eppes, and as you know, we cannot get DNA from charred skin and hair. We are hoping to be able to use the blood present for that, but DNA results can take weeks to come back. We did find a few articles in and around the grave still intact that might help to tentatively identify the victim. Are you able to help us?"

Don gave the man a curt nod, thinking he now knew what it felt like to be on the other side of an investigation. It was a nightmare, no worse than a nightmare, it was pure hell.

Harrington held out another evidence bag. It contained a cell phone caked with blood and dirt. "Of course the lab will examine but it, but if you could identify this, it might move things ahead a little."

Don took the bag, "It's Charlie's phone. I was with him when he bought it. He dropped his old one in the fountain at the college. He must have gone through three phones this year. He's always dropping them or losing them."

"How about this, is it familiar?" he handed Don a larger bag containing a ripped, blood stained jacket.

Don ran his hands over the bag, as if caressing it, "This is Charlie's. Dad and I teased him about it because it's Dolce and Gabbana and not like Charlie at all. He said it was a gift from a good friend." Don took a deep shuddering breath, "This jacket is very expensive and he still looked like he'd slept in it. He said it was supposed to look like that. That's just Charlie I guess. If I tried to dress like he dresses, I'd look like a bum, but on him, it just looks right."

"Then you confirm the items belong to Dr. Eppes?" Harrington took the bag from Don's hands.

The agent was reluctant to let the jacket go, but he knew he had to. It was no longer Charlie's. It was evidence. It had to go to the lab with everything else.

"We also found this wallet." Harrington showed Don another evidence bag, "It contains a driver's license, a couple of credit cards, a CalSci ID all issued to Dr. Charles Edward Eppes."

"Harrington," Don interrupted, "Charlie is the brother of a Federal agent. He is a consultant for the FBI. That makes this a Bureau case." Don took a step towards the Colonel.

"Agent Eppes, I sympathize, but Dr. Eppes was also a consultant for the NSA, the DOD, the CIA and a few other agencies you probably never knew existed. His clearance alone makes this a matter of national security. We will be handling this case. We will, of course, keep you informed."

Don felt his heart skip a beat at the phrase 'Dr. Eppes was…' past tense.

"I need to see my brother, IF this body is my brother's. I'm not willing to accept that yet, not without more proof. Someone could have stolen his jacket with his wallet and phone in it." Don demanded.

For the first time Harrington showed a chink in his perfect armor. "Believe me; you do not want to see this."

"I'm a trained agent. I'm sure I've seen worse." Don insisted.

"Boss," Colby interrupted, "even if this were our case, you would not be allowed to work it. You would not be allowed at the scene. You're too close."

"When we take the body to the morgue, if you are still adamant about this, you can attempt to make positive ID, but, there is very little left that is recognizable. I seriously doubt…"

"I want to see him." Don said, "I have to see him."

Harrington nodded, "I guess I understand that. I'll call you personally as soon as the remains are ready. In the meantime, there's nothing more you can do here. I'll have my driver take you back to your place."

"No, I don't want to go home. I want to go Charlie's house. I want to see for myself what happened there."

Colonel Harrington seemed to be considering Don's request. "As I understand it, my people have already cleared that scene. I will have my driver take you to the house under one condition. You are to speak with no one about this. As far as your neighbors know, your brother was a victim of a home invasion. He has gone to stay with friends. Donovan was injured trying to stop the robbery and he will recover. That is all. By the way, you will find no signs of any crime. We have taken care of that. And Eppes, if you find anything pertinent to this case you are under an obligation to turn it over to us. We want to catch this bastard. I've known Charlie for many years. He's a good man and he's served us well."

Don agreed—reluctantly. For the moment he was willing to cooperate to get access to the house, but he was not finished with this asshole, not by a long shot.

Don called David Sinclair to instruct him to meet them at the house. He knew Colby had called the team earlier and let them knew where they were and what was happening. David sounded very somber, but willing to do anything Don asked.

"We're practically out the door now. Don, words cannot express how sorry we all are."

"I know. How is everyone?" Don asked.

"Not good, as you would expect. Larry is shattered, but he wants to continue to help. All of us do."

"I'm grateful, let everyone know." Don felt his composure slip a little. "I need to go. I'll see you soon."

Don Eppes and Colby Granger sat in silence in the back of the town car. Each of them seemed lost in their own thoughts.

"Do we sound like that to people?" Colby asked at last, "Do we sound so cold, so indifferent?"

Don looked at him. He knew what Colby meant and yes, they were all guilty of it. They all used the same terminology. That obscene field became a 'body dump'. Loved ones with names and faces and histories were reduced to 'remains'. His own brother, funny, sweet, gentle Charlie was now just that; remains to be carefully excavated from a shallow grave. He would be given a number and piled into a body bag. Later he would be cut up by some stranger, and bits and pieces of him sent to various labs for evaluation. Eventually, he would be released to his family, who could then lay him to rest. And those words, those words he had said so many times seemed so worthless, so empty.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Don whispered as he felt the sting of tears running down his cheeks.

*****************

The house was dark except for one lamp burning in the living room. A guard Harrington had assigned to keep an eye on the place let them in, and disappeared, leaving them to do what they had to do. Don stood in the foyer feeling like he had been hit in the face with a brick. He hadn't realized just how horribly difficult this was going to be. He expected to hear the muffled sound of metal music from the garage, but all was silent.

"We need to spread out, just be careful what you touch. David, if you and Colby could take the garage, Liz and Nikki, take the living room." Don's eyes rested on Larry. He was pale and shaking. He should have been sent home, but Don doubted he would have gone. Larry was Charlie's closest friend in the world. He was more than that. He was family.

"Larry, why don't you and I look in Charlie's room?" Don smiled, "I don't think he'd mind if you look through his things, but he'd kill me if I let anyone else."

Larry looked thankful and followed Don upstairs.

"God, how does he find anything?" Don said, as he touched a stack of books and notebooks on the desk.

"I once wondered the same thing, but I can promise you Charles knows exactly where things are." Larry picked up a folder, "If you move so much as a sheet of paper, he'll know. We need to make sure we leave everything exactly where it is so when he comes home…" Larry caught Don's eye.

Don nodded. "Look for anything that might seem out of place or something that doesn't look like it belongs," he said.

Both men slowly took in the clutter all around them. They looked at each other, smiled and began their search. For thirty minutes, neither of them spoke as they carefully sifted through Charlie's life.

"I found Charles' latest journal," Larry said, holding a spiral notebook.

"I didn't know he kept journals," Don said. "I mean I knew he kept notebooks full of equations. Some of those are in the garage."

"Oh, yes. He has kept journals for years. He probably has boxes of them buried around here somewhere." Larry handed the notebook to Don, "This is exceedingly personal. If anyone HAS to read it, it should be you."

Don took the notebook and skimmed through it. He found entries relating to Charlie's work, school, an idea for a new book, fiction this time, his breakup with Amita, and of course, entries about his big brother. The journal was a record of Charlie's everyday life, his thoughts, his hopes and fears. Don felt guilty invading his brother's privacy, but he was hoping to find something, anything that might give them an insight as to what happened in that house.

"Don!" Larry said as he turned from a pile of papers he had been examining. He was holding several envelopes. "He must have left these for us. There is one for Alan and one for me." He handed the third to Don, "This one is addressed to you."

Don took the envelope, holding it for a second. He recognized Charlie's almost illegible scrawl instantly. He sat on the bed, afraid to open it. Finally, he slowly and carefully tore it open and removed the sheet of paper. He unfolded it. He looked at the date. A mere three days ago, Charlie had sat at his desk and taken pen in hand to put what was in his heart on paper for the people he loved most. Don felt a sudden pain in his chest. This letter was Charlie's way of saying good-bye and he was not at all sure he was ready for that.

"He must have suspected something terrible was going to happen," Larry said more to himself than to Don. "I can't read this now. I'll do it later, when I'm alone."

The FBI agent nodded. He understood all too well. He steeled himself against the onslaught of emotions he knew the letter was going to bring and began to read.

Dear Don,

If you're reading this, then I assume something went wrong and I am either dead or missing. First, I need to tell you that there is a key in the top drawer of my nightstand to a safety deposit box at Wells Fargo. There you will find my will and some other papers you will need. In that same drawer, you will find a folder with my lawyer's information and several other contacts that you will find useful. I have left the house to you and Dad. Please enjoy it. I hope you both decide to keep it in the family. It would be a great place for you and Robin (yeah big brother, I see the way it is between the two of you) to raise a couple of mini-Dons or Robins, or if you do not want to live here, for Dad to spoil a couple of grandchildren. This is great house for kids, if you recall. Now that the necessary things are taken care of I have a few things I would like to say:

I want you to know that you have been very important to me and that these last years of working with you have been some of the happiest of my life. Thanks for letting me hang around. It meant a lot. I guess sometimes I tried a bit too hard to impress you and mainly just annoyed the hell out of you. Do you think if we had grown old together, that dynamic would have continued, and that at seventy-five, I'd still be trying to get your approval? What a picture that would have made!

There are a lot of things l would like to tell you, far too many to include in this letter, but I'd like to try. I deeply regret the time we spent apart, all those years when we didn't speak. I understand why you needed to distance yourself from me and I guess I just reacted in self-defense. It all seems so petty now; at least it does to me. I just want to apologize to you if I ever seemed to throw things in your face. I know I can be a bit self-centered and egotistical. I admit I enjoyed the attention I received and I enjoy the spotlight. I know how hard that was on you, and I understand why you resent me, hell, I'm not sure I'd want to be friends with me either.

Don, do you remember that day in your therapist's office? The day we hashed over the birthday party? Well, I really am sorry I ruined that party for you. Things changed between us after that. I knew you didn't like me and didn't want me around, but I never realized just how much until that party. Even Mom and Dad sensed it because they stopped trying to shove me down your throat. I nearly said something to you that day in your doctor's office, something I'd wanted to say for a while, but couldn't. I came within a nanosecond of blurting it out. I got as far as 'I love…' and I saw your face. I saw that look you gave me, that look that has had the power to cut me cold since I was a child, so I backed off and instead said 'I love working with my brother'. Well, you're not here right now to give me that look, so, I love you Don. Always have, even when you were being a jerk of a big brother.

I suppose, since you found my letters, you and Larry are looking through my room. You have my permission read my journals if you feel you must; just don't check them for spelling or penmanship. Don, as you investigate this case you will probably find out some things about me that may shock you or confuse you. Please, don't take things at face value and remember, what seems like truth sometimes isn't. I'm pretty much the same person I have always been— pretty boring for the most part.

Oh yeah, there is one more thing I'd like to apologize for. I almost forgot about it. Go out to the garden and dig under the blue gnome. I left something there for you. Just bear in mind I was an angry six year old dumped by his big brother. I could try to come up with excuses, but I guess I am forced to plead diminished capacity on this one.

Please take care of Dad and please let Dad take care of YOU. Tell everyone thank you for me. Tell them they meant a lot to me. And feed my koi. I hope someone's been taking care of them. Don't grieve too long. I don't want that. Don, time goes by so fast, you wouldn't believe it. Take the advice of your kid brother, get married, have kids, have your friends over for burgers and beer as often as you can, and when you remember me, remember the things that made you laugh. Always remember to laugh, Don. You don't do that nearly enough!

Love forever,

Charlie

Don's hands shook as he folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. "Larry, there's nothing to help us here. Lets' go downstairs." he said as he slipped the envelope in his pocket.

The two men met the other team members in the garage. They were all quiet and subdued. Don grabbed a garden trowel from a shelf. "I'll be right back." he said, as he headed out into the garden alone.

Don moved the gnome gently aside. He remembered the day Aunt Irene gave that thing to their Mom. She did not have the heart to tell her favorite aunt she hated it. She put in a place near the koi pond where she could plant bushes around it, making it not so obvious from the patio. He used the trowel to dig a small hole. It did not take long. Charlie had been a child. To him the hole must have seemed deep, but in reality, it was less than a foot. There he found an object wrapped in an old plastic bag from the dry cleaners. He carefully removed the plastic and found his long missing GI Joe. It looked a little worse for wear, but for the most part, it was in good shape. He sat there holding that toy from childhood. He ran his fingers over the synthetic fuzz that passed for hair. The damned kung fu grip still worked. He tried to remember the last time he thought about poor GI Joe. It had been years. Hugging his knees to his chest, he rested his aching head and finally broke down.

"Please forgive me, Charlie!" The tough as nails FBI agent sobbed like the child he had once been. He wept for his brother, praying that where ever Charlie was, he knew his big brother would find this monster. He would make it right. He would finish the mission Charlie had begun and give him peace.

It had now been twelve hours since he walked out the door of Charlie's home, twelve hours since he had given him that nod, that silent promise that everything was going to be alright. The image of his little brother, standing in the foyer watching him leave, a small smile touching his lips; watching him with such trust in his deep brown eyes, that image would haunt him forever. And those words, those five meaningless, hated words:

"I'm sorry for your loss," No, they could not even begin to cover it.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Eight

_Hope Is a Waking Dream_

Don Eppes walked briskly across the parking lot and past the patrol cars, David Sinclair at his side. He flashed his badge at the guard at the door, briefly glancing at the words on the sign, 'Los Angeles County Department of The Coroner, County Morgue: Authorized Personal Only' and entered. All of these places looked alike; all of them were cold, austere, clinical and in a city like L.A., very busy. The smell of disinfectant, chemicals and worse filled the air, making him a bit queasy. This was the part of the medical examiner's office the general public never saw, the part reserved for technicians, coroners and unfortunately all too often, law enforcement. He could hear muffled voices and phones ringing, but he tried to keep his eyes straight ahead.

He was aware of the black body bags, some stacked two high, piled on gurneys that had been pushed as far against the wall as the orderlies could shove them. It seemed so heartless and perhaps it was, but this was how it had to be. Sometimes the carnage of the city simply overwhelmed the available personnel or available refrigerated space. With the economy, and family estrangement the way it was these days, bodies went unclaimed and the morgue was over crowded. They had a gruesome job to do. It was up to these people to come up with a COD on remains that were sometimes, not much more than a pile of decomp and bones or burned to a crisp. Sometimes the victims were so tiny and so young, even the long seasoned were affected. It was a tough, often heartbreaking job that required a special kind of person. If they seemed indifferent or cold, it was because they had to be. To do the job well, they could not become emotionally involved. They had to be thorough and careful and Don was grateful for that.

For the general public, if an ID was required, the viewing would take place upstairs in small room with a police chaplain or grief counselor in attendance. There they could see their loved one through glass and be spared the full brunt of death's horrors. But he was law enforcement. He had special privileges. He could have chosen to make his ID from the relative comfort of that room. As David pointed out, he did not have to subject himself to this torture. It was bad enough when the victim was a stranger; seeing his little brother in this place, lying on an autopsy table, devoid of all that made him Charlie, would be hell on earth. Still he refused the small consolation of that room or counselors to help him through. There had been no comfort for Charlie as he faced a horrible death; there would be no comfort for Don now. He wanted to be in the same room with his brother. They had spent many years apart, years they both regretted. Now they would spend a lifetime apart. He did not want a thick piece of Plexiglas separating them in these last few moments.

The one comfort Don had allowed himself was the presence of his friend and team member, David Sinclair. The rest of the team had returned to their jobs at the Bureau. Larry Fleinhardt was crashing on Don's couch for the moment. Don did not want the shattered astrophysicist to be alone, but the last place he needed to be was at the morgue trying to identify the body of a man the older professor had loved as a son. Larry was an emotional soul and Don knew this would just be too much for him to bear. Larry needed to remember Charlie the way he was, smiling and full of exuberance and joy as he taught his classes or worked on his own equations.

The FBI agent felt exhausted beyond belief. He could not think anymore and he wanted this nightmare to be over. He had practically wept when Harrington had called to inform him that the remains were ready if he still wanted to try and make a positive ID. He still did not advise it, but the choice was Don's. Harrington was willing to send his car and driver, just as he had before, but David had stepped in. It was not necessary. HE would drive Don and he would stay with his boss and his friend throughout this ordeal. Don had objected at first. This was something he could do alone.

"No, you can't," David had insisted. "I'm going with you."

Don did not give voice to the words, but he had been relieved at David's offer. He was also grateful his father was still blissfully ignorant of the situation. He had decided to keep it that way until he knew for sure. Soon, he would no longer be able to deny the truth. Soon he would have to make that call. The Bureau had informed him that they would arrange for his father's return to L.A. He did not have to worry about that. He would be escorted by an agent and a grief specialist all the way. His Dad would not be alone. All Don had to do was say the word so the process could begin.

"Thank you," was all he could think of to say.

They were coming to the end of the hall. Don could see Harrington standing ramrod straight in front of a puke green door. A figure was sitting in one of the cheap molded plastic chairs lining the wall. As Don approached, the figure rose and faced him.

"Shouldn't you still be in the hospital?" Don asked GySgt Mike Donovan, amazed the man could sit, much less stand.

The soldier stood as straight as the Colonel, his left shoulder bandaged and his arm in a sling. He was pale, but steady on his feet. "I belong here. My job is not finished until Charlie has justice."

Don stood in silence for a second then nodded, "David, if you would rather wait here…"

"No way, boss. I'm coming with you." David insisted, his hand on Don's shoulder.

Don Eppes turned and rang the bell. Soon a man dressed in scrubs pushed the door open and stood aside for them to enter.

* * *

_The night was cold and the snow was falling all around them. He held her body close to his as Edith Piaf sang 'La Vie en Rose'. Their lips met in a long, sweet, tender kiss. "Charlie, my sweet Charlie, run away with me. Let's forget school and degrees, and our parent's expectations. Let's forget everyone's damned expectations and just fly away." She whispered as they began to move in slow, concentric circles, dancing all alone in a field on a winter's night._

_He touched her face, her cheeks flushed by the cold, her eyes the color of emeralds. He held her. She rested her head on his shoulder._

_"Where would we go?" He asked as they danced._

_"Paris!" She said. "We can run away to Paris!"_

_"And what would we do for money?" he smiled_

_"I can sell my paintings and you can work on your book. We could rent a small room overlooking the Seine and subsist on wine and cheese, and love, and wild, hot, destroy the furniture sex." She snuggled closer to him, "Wouldn't that be beautiful, Charlie, you and me, a couple of expatriates living the bohemian life in Paris?"_

_"It would be incredible, especially the part about the furniture," he held her closer, "Why don't we do it? We can leave tomorrow. We'll just dump everything and everyone and go!" He whispered, burying his face in her perfumed hair._

_"And when people ask, 'What ever happened to Charlie and Ashley?' our friends will answer, why, that crazy couple up and left school and moved to Paris!" She said smiling._

_"We'll become the Scott and Zelda of our time. We'll be legends!" Charlie laughed, whirled her around and kissed her as they danced and dreamed of adventures in the City of Lights, adventures destined to remain forever__—__ only a dream. _

_He wanted to hold her in his arms, to feel her touch, hear her voice, and to breathe in the scent of her skin forever, but they were being pulled apart by some unseen force. The wind began to blow harder and harder catching the snow and sending it swirling around them in a mad dance of its own and within the wind, the voices that had haunted him all his life were murmuring equations in his head, Newton, Einstein, Hawking, Platonic solids, phi, prime numbers, the Fibonacci sequence — numbers, numbers, numbers, hitting him from all sides, smashing into each other like particles in a super collider. They were all piled, one on top of the other, bleeding into each other like clocks in a Dali painting until nothing made sense. He was being stoned to death by numbers. He wanted to scream at them to leave him alone, to let him have his sweet dream of his lost love for just a little longer, but as always, the voices refused to surrender. _

_"Ashley!" He cried out, reaching for her, but his plea was lost in the roar of the wind as she faded into the night leaving him alone. _

_He was on his knees, weeping. In the distance, he heard the sound of a lone animal howling its misery into the void. Somewhere a woman was singing and from the darkness he heard his brother calling his name over and over again. _

**********

Light played at the edges of Charlie Eppes' mind, drawing him up from the depths. He took a deep breath. The sweet, rich scent of flowers and growing things washed over him. He could hear the sound of trickling water and the faint whisper of music. Charlie opened his eyes then closed them for a second. He felt heavy, like he had slept far too long. His body ached; his throat and wrists were raw. His upper arm was on fire and he felt as if he were in the throes of one hell of a hang-over complete with nausea, a cotton mouth and a throbbing headache.

Charlie opened his eyes again. He was laying on his back on a chaise lounge. Far above him stretched a canopy of clear glass and steel. The sky was streaked with crimson and purple as the sun rose in the eastern sky. The rope that had bound his wrists was on the floor beside him along with the bandana his assailant had used as a gag.

_'Red sky at dawning…'_ The thought came unbidden to his confused mind. "Sailor take warning." he finished the phrase aloud. It was an adage one of his professors at Princeton used when the morning started off badly, "Hang on, Charlie my boy, it's gonna to get bumpy from here." The professor would say and he was never wrong.

Charlie forced himself to sit. He looked up again. He saw the canopy that covered him was actually twelve sided, each side consisting of a pentagon, each angle in perfect proportion to the preceding angle. Immediately the Golden Ratio came to mind and immediately on the heels of that thought came another; 'Who_ the hell thinks like that? Who wakes up in strange room and wonders if the damned ceiling conforms to the Ratio? God, I need to get a life!_'

He stood, felt the earth pitch and sway and he sat again. Charlie took a few deep breaths, giving the room time to stop spinning, and tried again. This time he managed to stay on his feet. He looked around. He saw he was in a large solarium. There was a fountain in the middle and all round him, plants and flowers grew in great profusion. Dozens of varieties of orchids, hyacinths, jasmine, lilies and many varieties he did not recognize, flourished. Roses were in evidence everywhere, beautiful blooms from the deepest red to the purest white. If he was not so frightened, he would have taken the time to enjoy the display. He had a great appreciation of growing things, a love passed down from his mother. When he was small, he would help her in the garden and she would teach him about each and every plant and flower. The garden and koi pond was something for mother and son to share, it got him outside in the sun, and also it gave the lonely prodigy a break from books and tutors.

Charlie looked around, trying to assess his situation. He ran towards the side of the room. Perhaps he could get past the plants and knock out one of the windowpanes, but the thorny foliage was just too thick and the solarium too well built. Charlie cursed under his breath. He turned, looking for something to help him knock out the glass. He saw a door at the other side of the room, and decided to give it a try. He dashed towards it, being careful not to slip on the wet tiles. He rested his hand on the door knob and turned. To his surprise, it was not locked. He slowly pushed the door open. The music became louder. Edith Piaf's beautiful, perfect voice filled the room— _La Vie en Rose._ Just for a second he expected to see Ashley standing there with snowflakes in her hair. But he realized the song must have drifted into his subconscious while he was out, bringing back an old, sweet memory of two academically exhausted kids looking for an out, if only for a moment. He leaned in cautiously, bracing himself for whatever might be waiting.

Heavy curtains covered the windows, blocking all light. The room was dimly lit by the glow from the blazing fireplace and dozens of candles scattered about the room. He slowly stepped into the faint light and closed the door. He looked around, more confused than ever. From the antique furniture to the scratchy LP playing on the old fashioned turntable, it was like he had stepped back in time. He jumped when the grandfather's clock in the corner chimed the half hour.

Charlie licked his lips and crossed the room to the fireplace. He gazed in the mirror above the mahogany mantel. He looked like he had been on a bender. His face was pale and his eyes were sunk back in his head. He touched his burning upper left arm. The bandage wrapped around it was stained with blood. He pulled it down a little and felt his stomach lurch. The deep slash had been crudely stitched up and looked like it was getting infected. He examined his throat. The tender flesh was covered in ligature marks. His wrists were the same.

He started to turn away from the mirror when he noticed the photograph. He picked it up. Ashley smiled back at him from a small silver frame. Then he saw another and another. The entire group seemed to be immortalized there. The photos were mystifying enough; he gasped and felt his heart skip a beat as he picked up a pair of wire framed glasses, the same glasses Prof. Hickman wore in his photograph. Then he saw an antique cameo pendant, Ashley's favorite piece of jewelry. He had given it to her to celebrate her moving to L.A. and the opening of the gallery. It was surrounded by tiny pearls, absurdly expensive and so perfect for her. Next to it was Ben's gold watch, the one his parents gave him when he received his doctorate in Chemical Engineering. Displayed in a small crystal bowl was Gary's Masonic ring, and Ron's fraternity pin.

"Oh, my God," Charlie said, as he picked up an antique pocket watch—the one his mother had given him when he graduated from Princeton. It had been her grandfather's and she had been so proud to pass it on to her youngest son. The only way it could be here was if this freak had gone into his closet and took it from a lock box where he kept a few cherished items.

Charlie clinched his teeth, not in fear, but in anger. The bastard was a collector! Not only had he robbed his friends of their lives, but he had stolen from them and was displaying his ill-gotten gains like trophies! He had to get out of there! He felt like he was going to suffocate if he did not get out of there! He slipped the watch and the cameo in his jeans pocket and ran towards the front door. It was locked. He was not getting out that way. He pushed the curtains open and grabbed a small chair. He reared back, intending to swing the chair with as much force as he could muster and smash the window. That idea was quickly abandoned as he dropped it behind him and stumbled back. A snarling, barking, ferocious beast bounded against the glass, its huge paws digging at the thin windowpane as it bared its enormous teeth, salivating in anticipation of getting at its intended kill.

"Shit, what the hell is that!?" Charlie bellowed.

"His name is Cocidius."

Charlie spun around to face a figure standing in the shadows at the far side of the room.

"He's a Presa Canarius," the man continued in a soft voice, "a very large dog and my companion. Of course you could go ahead and break that window and escape. I won't even try to stop you. Just bear in mind he weighs nearly as much as you do, he's far faster and he has a taste for your blood. I saw to that when I brought you here," he chuckled softly. "Now Charlie, be a good boy and close the curtains. I like the dark." The figure stepped out of the shadows.

Charlie, his hands trembling, obeyed and walked back to the fireplace. He sank down on an overstuffed, wing backed chair and rubbed his aching head, trying very hard not to let his emotions show on his face. His initial reaction was disbelief, then shock, then fear. He took a moment to calm himself, to get his voice under control.

"Hello, Hicks," he said in a subdued voice. "It's been a while."

"Very well played, my friend, very well played indeed. I half expected you to faint from the shock." David Hickman laughed as he poured tea from a fine china pot into two Royal Albert cups. He added a sugar cube to one, three to the other and a twist of lemon to each and stirred. Grabbing the matching chair to Charlie's, he moved it directly across from his old friend. He picked up the tea cups by the saucers and handed Charlie one.

"Earl Grey," he said, moving an antique pie crust tea table between the two of them. He settled down in the chair and took a sip of his tea. He saw Charlie's hesitation. "Go ahead, drink. I swear it's not dosed. I added extra sugar to yours. It will help your head. The side effects of that little concoction I used to knock you out should wear off soon."

Reluctantly Charlie took a sip, then another. He hated to admit it, but the tea was helping.

"You have hardly changed at all, Charlie, it's truly amazing." Hicks set his cup and saucer down on the table.

"I can't say the same for you," Charlie said as he followed suit, "I hardly recognized you."

"The years have not been kind, Charlie." Hicks clenched and unclenched his fingers. "Aren't you going to ask how is it that you are sitting here in this beautiful home having tea with a ghost?"

Charlie took in the visage before him. The David Hickman he remembered had black hair; this man's was almost white. Every evil deed, every wicked thought was etched on his face. Charlie knew his old friend was about four or five years older than himself, but he looked fifteen years older. He had always been tall and lean, but this man was muscular and hard. His brown eyes glowed with purpose, but exactly what purpose, Charlie was afraid to guess.

"I figure you'll tell me when you're ready. You always did have a flair for the dramatic." Charlie was fighting to maintain his cool.

He knew exactly what this man was capable of and he knew in gruesome detail the fate that awaited him. What Charlie could not figure out, however, was why he was still alive. Why had Hicks not slaughtered him back at the abandoned house? He remembered the reports given to Harrington said the others had been beaten and tortured. He supposed he still lived because Hicks had not yet taken all his pleasure. Charlie felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

The mathematician forced a smile and forced his body to relax. He remembered his promise to Mike. He would fight to stay alive. He would do whatever it took. He could perform this verbal dance with Hicks forever if it bought precious time. And he remembered Mike's promise that someone would come for him, he was sure that soon his brother would come to take him home.

Charlie Eppes smiled. "So, Hicks, what have you been up to these last few years?" He asked.

Hicks leaned back in his chair and laughed. "You always were droll, Charlie. I think that is one of the things I liked most about you." He pulled a silver case and a lighter out of his pocket. He opened the case and took out a cigarette, lighting it, he inhaled deeply and let the smoke out slowly. "I'm sorry. I'm being rude. Would you like one?"

"And I see you still do things with that— panache I always found so damned irritating. What, you couldn't find an ivory cigarette holder to complete the look?" Charlie said softly. "Those things will kill you, you know, but I suppose that's a real cliché."

"Once again we are treated to that delightful sense of humor," Hicks chuckled. He gestured with his cigarette. "I don't think either of us will live long enough for these to take their toll." He looked at the burning non filtered Gitanes. "I considered quitting, but you know, I just love it so much. There's something about the feel of a fresh one between your fingers, the smell when you first light it and that rush when you take that first deep drag in the morning. It's like sex without all the emotional entanglements." he looked at Charlie. "Isn't there anything you have a passion for, Charlie? Even if it's detrimental to your health, some guilty little pleasure that brings you absolute joy?"

"I have my math, I guess." The professor said with a shrug, "and I love teaching."

Hicks look at him for a second then burst out laughing, "You are so fucking full of yourself! Your math and teaching! These are not passions, Charlie that is your job! No, I mean something that makes your soul sing—that makes you feel alive, something that is like a drug that you would rather die than give up. And before you answer, remember; we lived together in the same house during a very interesting period of your life. I probably know more things about you than that precious family of yours ever will."

Charlie said nothing. He watched as Hicks crushed out one cigarette and lit another. His heart beat quickened as his captor rested the lit cigarette in the ashtray and stood. He moved slowly around the table, gently trailing his fingers on the polished mahogany as he went.

"Can't think of anything? How boring Charlie. How pathetic that math is the only passion in your sad little life." his captor shook his head, "I've kept up with your career over the years. I've read everything you published and everything published about you. You are quite well known, revered even. One of the great minds in the world today, one article said." Hicks gazed at the reflection in the mirror.

"A lot of those articles are exaggerated." Charlie said, sitting very still. Something in the larger man's manner was setting off alarms in his head.

Hicks had moved directly behind Charlie. He began to massage the mathematician's shoulders, "Oh I don't know. You have always been so brilliant, like the Morning Star. Everyone said so, even dear old Dad said so." he squeezed hard enough to make Charlie cringe. "Do you know what little tidbit about Dr. Charles Eppes none of the articles mentioned?" Quickly he pulled the knife out of his belt. He grabbed a handful of Charlie's hair and, with the knife directly under his throat, he hauled the smaller man to his feet.

"God!" Charlie groaned.

"Answer me! Do you know what the articles failed to mention!?" Hicks screamed.

"No, no what did they leave out?" Charlie's voice was trembling. "Please don't!" he whispered, panicking as he felt Hicks free hand moving down the side of his body.

For a second he thought he was going to have to deal with a sexual assault, but the hand reached into his jean pocket and pulled out the pocket watch and cameo. Hicks held them in front of Charlie's face, "That you're a thief, Charlie, that you're a thief!" He put the items back on the mantel.

He slammed his victim back into the chair. Charlie was taking deep breaths. He raised his eyes and looked at his old friend.

"You know, you never did ask me how I faked my death. I'm sure you'd find that interesting." Hicks sat down again and leaned across the table towards the professor.

"Okay, how did you fake your death?" Charlie asked, his hands still trembling.

"You see Charlie; I had already decided on the method of my retribution upon you and your minions. Putting my plans into action took a little thought, but once the ball was rolling, it really was not that hard. I found the grave site first. Then I found a homeless junkie who resembled me. I waved one of my own special potions under his nose and he followed me like a starving dog. At first I was not sure I could kill him, but it turned out to be easy. I slashed his throat, burned him and buried him in that shallow grave. I tossed in a few of my possessions, my ID and a good amount of my blood. Killing Dad was a little tougher, but he trusted me so getting him out to that grave was not difficult. Finding both our bodies' together pretty much cinched the deal. No one really questioned my death Charlie, no one at all." Hicks shrugged.

"I took my time. I have learned patience over the years since the project shut down. During that time, I carefully went about creating false identities. I swear I have lived under so many different names; there are days I am not sure who I am. I sold my formulas to whoever had the money to pay for them. I really did not care who, foreign governments, terrorists, it didn't matter to me. I built wealth and I used the funds to build this compound."

"How could you…" Charlie was unable to believe his old friend was capable of such Machiavellian plotting, of such cold, and calculated murder.

"How could I? It was so simple. I kept up with all of you over the years and slowly, one by one, I eliminated them. I took my time with each one, reveling in the game. I even went into your homes when you were away."

Charlie licked his lips, his horror growing with every word.

"They all begged me, my friend. They all begged for their lives, they all admitted they served you and asked for forgiveness, but righteousness is without mercy." He held out his hands as if in a blessing.

Charlie covered his mouth with his hands, his eyes closed. "My god, Hicks what has happened to you? You had so much to give to the world. No one could match you in botany, chemistry or microbiology, no one. You could have used your knowledge to do wonderful things, to really help people. That's what you wanted back then. You wanted to help people!"

Charlie opened his eyes and looked at his captor with disgust, not the fear Hicks wanted. "You could have used your genius as a real force for good in this world and this is what you do, you become a— Bond villain? Interesting career choice."

Hicks only looked at him for a second then he grabbed Charlie and smashed his head into the table, sending the china crashing to the floor, stunning him for a second."This is serious! I am serious!" He smashed Charlie's head down again, reopening the wound that had not healed from the explosion.

"Maybe this will make you understand who I am. I am the one who will punish you for all your sins."He grabbed Charlie's right hand and slammed it onto the table so the fingers were spread out, holding the razor sharp knife to the tender flesh. "Exodus 20: 15 Thou Shalt Not Steal! You stole from me, you son of a bitch! Maybe I should cut off these three fingers to remind you of that!"

"Hicks, don't!" Charlie whispered.

"Or maybe I'll just mark you with fire," he turned Charlie's hand over and grabbed the still burning cigarette.

"No!" Charlie tried to pull away, but he couldn't. He screamed as the glowing red hot tip was pressed to his palm once, then again crushing out the cigarette.

Hicks released him. Charlie pulled his throbbing hand to his body, sobbing softly. Hicks grabbed him and threw him to the floor. He instinctively threw up his arms to protect his head and curled up to protect his soft middle as a steeltoe boot came at him, catching him in the ribs, then the stomach driving the air from his lungs. He tried to turn over, only to be kicked in the back of the ribs and the kidneys. He braced himself for another blow, but was pulled to his feet again and forced back into his chair.

"My brother is going to kill you. He's going to…" Charlie groaned, fighting the pain, fighting for air.

"Your brother is not going to do anything you little fool. He thinks you're dead. Everyone thinks you're dead. They have a grave, a body, they have your ID, your phone, that damned designer jacket Ashley gave you and," he grabbed the stitches on Charlie's upper arm causing him to cry out again. "They have your blood— NO ONE IS LOOKING FOR YOU! You are all mine and we are going to have lots of fun." he leaned close to Charlie and hissed, "I'm going to be your teacher. I'm going to teach you all about Charlie Eppes, this so called good man. I'm going to show you just what a black heart you possess. We have all of today Charlie and tomorrow. Then under the full moon you will be executed at midnight as the Master has commanded and the evil possessing your soul will die with you."

"I won't beg you for mercy, Hicks. I won't scream." Charlie hissed.

"Oh my friend, yes you will," Hicks chuckled, "But it won't matter. No one can hear you."

Charlie looked into the eyes of his old friend. He was in the hands of madness and no one was coming to help him! He closed his eyes and thought of what Mike had told him. _'Fight to live Charlie. Do whatever it takes to stay alive. Someone will come for you, someone will come!' _

And as the last stains of Edith Piaf's _'Non, Je ne regrette rien'_ faded followed by the rhythmic click, click, click of the needle hitting the label, Charlie knew he could not give up. He had to hang on. No matter what this madman said, Mike had made a promise to him, a Marines promise; Don had made a promise to him, a brother's promise. They would come, they would take him home. He could never lose faith in that pledge. He would fight for his life to the very end.

TCB


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Nine

_Half Truths and Black Lies_

Medical Examiner Thomas Addison M.D. was a short man. He stood a mere five foot four in his stocking feet. He turned fifty years old on June fifteenth, but looked closer to forty. He was the proud father of four daughters and the grandfather of three. His friendly attitude and easy smile had earned him the nick name of Dr. Tom. The M.E. carried about thirty extra pounds on his short stature and his bald head was as round as a ball. His eyes were as bright and as blue as a new born babies and his nose, which was a little too large for his face, was a bit flat and crooked from having been broken more than once, a physical reminder of a short stint in the ring when he was twenty. He had a reputation of being a stickler for detail and of never being too quick to come to a conclusion. Sometimes this got him into hot water with harried homicide investigators under pressure from their superiors to close cases expeditiously and move on to the next bit of mayhem. L.A. was never short of homicides, but thanks to budget cuts and modern life, it was always short of homicide investigators and medical examiners.

The one thing Dr. Addison always demanded at every crime scene in which he was involved was—respect. He treated the deceased like they could still hear and see what was happening around them. He treated them as he had once treated living patents when he still practiced internal medicine. He insisted on the same behavior from his assistants and techs down to the lowest orderly. No jokes or comments were allowed, no clever remarks or one-liners. And he never used the term 'remains'. To Dr. Addison, the body on his table was a human being with a story to tell and even the most indigent deserved to be heard.

Agent Don Eppes had been pleased when he learned Tom Addison was the M.E. overseeing Charlie's case. He had known the doctor for over five years. Addison had handled one of Don's first cases in L.A. in which a partial body was unearthed after a mudslide. The medical examiner had made an ID from remains that consisted of two partially decomposed fingers from a left hand, a sliver of skull and a piece of a right femur.

The pathologist had been able to plump out the fingertips so a print could be made. AFIS had identified the digit as belonging to Robert Perry Simons, a man wanted by the FBI as a suspect in at least five banks robberies in the L.A. area in the mid nineties and possibly as many as ten more throughout the southwest. The monetary take on the robberies was estimated to be as high as three quarters of a million dollars. Neither the money nor Simons had ever been found, until that fateful day after a torrential rain storm, when one of the hills overlooking Hollywood decided to relocate its self into the canyon below, depositing its grizzly gift on a tennis court.

Due to the miniscule amount of remains, and the amount of decomposition, it initially appeared a COD would be impossible to determine. The chief M.E. was getting ready to close the examination as inconclusive when Addison noticed the white stria and punctata on the nails and the brown coloration of the beds. Upon further investigation, arsenic was found in the soft tissue of the nail beds. He appeared to have been poisoned over period of at least six months. Though arsenic could not definitely be listed as the COD, it could be recorded as a contributing factor.

Don had shown the neighbors an old photograph of Simons. They identified him as Perry Miller, the philandering husband of Doris Miller. Perry, according to the neighbors had taken off with a topless dancer a few years before, leaving poor Doris heartbroken. No one was surprised. He had a reputation as a hound, and not a very discriminating one at that. Agent Eppes questioned Doris who broke down almost immediately and admitted she had dispatched her disloyal husband by adding small amounts of the poison to his nightly Manhattan.

After he succumbed, she had placed the body in the freezer chest in the garage. Later that night, she had called his whore dancer and asked her to stop by and talk things over. It had only taken Doris one strike with a hammer to send the bitch to the next life. She had joined her illicit lover under the frozen briskets and chicken breasts. Freezing the bodies had made it easier to dismember and scatter them for miles up and down the coast, in the desert, in the mountains, or just anywhere her fancy struck her. She had used the bastard's own tools. It only seemed appropriate. She had taken a year to fully dispose of the bodies and she hadn't really thought about it since.

Unfortunately for Doris, when the inevitable rains and mudslides came, bits of Robert, aka Perry, made their presence known. As for the motive for her gruesome crime, the money had nothing to do with it. In fact, Doris knew nothing about her husband's nefarious past. She was sick of his philandering, yes, but mostly she was sick of the mess. Old Rob was a slob. She had picked up his smelly socks, dirty briefs, crushed beer cans and swept up his toenail clippings from the den floor one too many times. She snapped.

As a girl, she had loved the Cary Grant movie, 'Arsenic and Old Lace' and Agatha Christie novels. If she was going to commit murder, she wanted to do something really creative, something worthy of Ms. Christie herself. The State of California did not find slovenliness or infidelity an acceptable motive for murder and the judge never cared for Agatha Christie mysteries or Cary Grant. Doris received two life sentences for the murders and Don received a commendation.

Further investigation revealed that Simons had built a house for his bother in Glendale. The house had been searched before, but Don decided to give the place one last look see. The money was found behind the walls of the guest bedroom, nearly half a million dollars of it. The rest had either been spent or never existed at all. As for the rest of Rob and his topless paramour, the area was searched and a few more pieces were found, but much of them remained absent. To this very day, when the rains come and the ground moves, occasionally a piece or two of old Rob or his dancer resurfaces, just another story that gives L.A. its special flavor.

Don felt an odd sense of relief to find Tom Addison waiting just inside the hideously painted door. "Don, I am very sorry for the circumstances that have brought you here, I swear we will do everything possible to aid you in this case." The M.E. said, shaking the agent's hand as he greeted him.

"I'm glad to see that you are handling this, Tom." Don said his voice tight with emotion.

"Once I realized who the possible victim was, I had to step in. I met your brother a couple of times. He's a fine man and a superb teacher. My nephew was in his class a couple of years ago. He still talks about Professor Eppes and his demonstrations of mathematical principles, "Dr. Addison smiled."The kid was in danger of either dropping out or being kicked out. This year, he will graduate with a 3.0 average and he credits your brother for lighting a fire under his ass and getting him to see the opportunities he was throwing away. My sister will be forever grateful."

"Thank you. Charlie would be very glad to hear he made a difference." He smiled. "Don't tell anyone but I really think he sets up those demonstrations as much for his own entertainment as he does for the students. He gets a bigger kick out of them than they do."

The medical examiner chuckled. But then he became dead serious. "Don, I want you to understand that the body you are going to view is badly burned. I do not think you can make any kind of visual identification…"

"I know. I understand." Don said. "I have to do this, Tom. I have to try."

The pathologist nodded, "I understand. I just want you to be prepared. If you are sure, then please come with me."

He turned and gestured for Don and his associates to follow. He led them to a table at the far side of the room. There lay a body, covered by a sheet on a cold, steel table. Tom slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and picked up a clipboard.

"Don, it's not too late to change your mind. No one would think less of you." Tom said sadly."Are you sure you are up to this?" He asked one last time.

_'Am I?' _Don thought, _'Am I sure about this?' _He knew the answer was an emphatic no, he wasn't sure, he wasn't sure at all, but he had to do this. He had promised Charlie. He gave one swift nod of his head.

Dr. Tom Addison gently turned down the sheet to the waist exposing the body beneath. "If anyone feels like they are going to be ill, there is a sink right behind you." he said softly. He knew from experience that sometimes putting the sight of a body together with the smells of death put even a strong man over the edge.

Don felt the color drain from his face and he was light headed for a moment. He heard both David and Mike gasp. He would not blame them if they bolted, but both men stayed. The doctor started to cover the body again, but Don stopped him.

"No, I'm all right," he said, knowing it was a lie. He doubted he would ever be all right again. "What do you have so far?"

Dr. Addison cleared his throat. "Of course the body was burned, which is making our job a lot tougher. I have just begun my examination, Don. I will not make a positive ID until all the information is in. I can tell you; this is the body of a white male in his mid-twenties to mid-thirties, five ft four to five ft six inches in height. He probably weighed between 145 to 155 pounds. He is curled in the fetal position with the arms in the pugilist pose, common with burned bodies. "

Don nodded. "Do you have a COD?" He asked, feeling his hands tremble, "Tom, please, forget this could be my brother. Give me the information as if this was just any case."

"Don! I thought you were here to make an ID. If you can't then we need to go. Leave the investigative details to…" David Sinclair interrupted.

"David, I have to know!" Don shouted, his voice echoing in the room. He was as close to losing it as he had been all day.

Tom Addison hesitated. He wondered if Don truly understood what he was getting himself into. It was one thing to hear the words when the victim was a stranger. When the victim was a friend or a loved one, everything changed. For a civilian, it was bad enough, but they at least had the relative comfort of ignorance. An experienced agent like Don would know what every terrible word meant as far as the mechanics of death were concerned. Tom thought of trying to avoid certain details, but Don had asked for the truth and the M.E. knew he could not sugar coat this one to make it easier.

"This poor man did not have a pleasant death." he began." Of course, the heat from fire causes bones to break, but aside from that, he appears to have been badly beaten. He has multiple broken bones including all his ribs and his hips. From the angle of the breaks, I would say he was either struck with the butt of a hard object like this," he proceeded to make a jabbing motion as if hitting the body with the butt of a rifle or the end of a bat." Or he was possibly kicked by a steeltoed boot, all pre mortem. The preliminary cause of death is exsanguination," He lifted the head carefully, "due to his throat being slit. This was an act of anger and hate. I would guess the assailant used a large bladed knife, razor sharp and enough force to cut through the larynx, trachea, esophagus, and both the jugular vein and carotid artery." he lifted the bottom of the sheet exposing the feet and ankles. "This man was suspended by his ankles first. The bones appear to have been broken, probably from the weight of his body struggling to get free."

"Don, are you all right?" David asked laying his hand on Don's shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine, I just…"

"I know this is very hard on you, but can you tell if this man is your brother?" the pathologist asked gently.

Don felt his hand tremble as he moved closer. He looked at the ruined face, the body, blackened by intense heat. He shook his head, "No," he said miserably, "No, I'm sorry, I can't…"

A tech walked up and handed the doctor a file. Tom opened it and read. He let out a sigh, "The blood found at the scene and on the jacket and phone is a match to Charlie's." he said softly. "Don, we still have the autopsy and I am waiting on other reports to come back. I am not yet willing to say this is definitely Charlie Eppes. There is just too much we do not know. We have yet to hear from trace and…"

The M.E. voice faded to a blur. Don's heart had sunk at the news that the blood was Charlie's. There was just so much of it! How could anyone lose so much blood and live? He felt hope slipping away. "Tom," he said his voice breaking, "I'm going back to the office. Please call me as soon as you know anything."

"I will. Just as soon as I know something, you will be the first one I call." Dr. Addison said."Don, if you need anything, please feel free to call me at any hour."

Don nodded and walked as swiftly as he could from the room, Mike and David close behind. All of them needed fresh air and none of them wanted to be in the room when Dr. Tom began to cut up a body that could very easily be Charlie's.

* * *

Charlie Eppes looked up at the blazing sun. It was nearly noon and the temperature had to be over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit.

'That's 37.77778 Celsius' he thought, not at all sure why his mind converted the figure.

He was hot, hotter than he had ever been in his life, hotter than that time Ashley talked him into that hot yoga class. His wrists and ankles were raw from the metal shackles that limited his movement and his hands were red and blistered from the physical labor of lifting heavy stones and moving them from one spot to another fifteen feet away. He stopped in his labor for a moment, looking at his filthy, blistered, hands. He was not used to hard labor. His skin was too soft. HE was too soft.

He licked his dry lips, feeling dizzy. His head was throbbing and he was getting leg cramps. He desperately needed water, he needed shade, but he was being punished — punished for his impudence towards his master and for his lame attempt at escaping this hell. He closed his eyes for a second and ran the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away the grime, sweat and blood. Why had he thought he could escape? Charlie couldn't remember, but it had been a stupid, impulsive move. He had only succeeded in making matters worse. If either Mike or Don were here, they would kick his ass for his stupidity.

After the initial shock of seeing his long dead friend alive and well, after the cigarette burns and the beating, Charlie had been forced to sit and listen to this man rave about evil and demons and his Master appointing him Paladin, the defender of the faith, a punisher of iniquity. He was a warrior against evil and that the only way to destroy evil was through the ritual of blood and fire. He ranted on and on about how he had destroyed the Minions, now there was only their Lord and Master left and he would die slowly, squirming, and begging for mercy. He would confess his sins and renounce the wickedness in his heart and as a reward; he would receive the blessed release of death.

Charlie had stared at his hands as he listened, trying to think of something, anything he could say to convince Hicks he was wrong, delusional — sick. In his heart, the professor knew any effort he made to reason with madness was an exercise in futility. The man was obviously mentally ill and was not about to listen to reason; still he had to try. He had to try and get through to whatever small fragment of David Hickman that still existed inside his twisted mind.

"How can you believe these things about me? We shared the same house. We shared the same room for a while! Don't you remember?" Charlie pleaded.

Hicks turned on Charlie, his grey eyes flashing. "I'll tell you what I remember. I remember the night of Ben's birthday party. THAT is the night I saw you for what you truly are! I SAW him come to you! I witnessed the Darkness descend upon you!"

"What I remember is that you and Matt were tweaking so bad we nearly kicked you out!" Charlie retorted and immediately regretted his words. All they gained him was a backhand across the face that left him bruised and his lower lip bloody.

Hicks grabbed him and pulled him up for a second, "No! No! That was the Gift from the Master entering my soul! Now, tell me what YOU remember about that night! Tell me now!" He slammed his captive back into the chair.

Charlie ran the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away some of the blood. He thought back. It was all so long ago, so much had happened since then. "It was in late October, nearly Halloween. We decided to combine the birthday party and Halloween party and wear costumes." he said softly.

"It was storming like crazy." Charlie recalled. "We mixed this punch in a big stew pot. Ron called it a Hairy Buffalo. God, it was awful!" Charlie ran his fingers through his hair. Even in the situation he was in, the memory was one of his better ones. "I think we added anything alcoholic we had laying around. There was Old Granddad, Jim Beam, Smirnoff, Ron Rico Gold and Thunderbird. I was fairly sure the whole thing would explode when we added the Mad Dog 20/20, but it didn't. We topped it off with grape juice and ginger ale."

"Go on. What else do you remember?" Hicks sat across from Charlie.

"We were having fun. It was a party. It's not like we had a lot of them. We were not exactly the popular crowd, if you recall. Our idea of fun was not what most people considered cool." Charlie sighed, "It must have been around ten PM; everyone was fairly well lit by then. We were trying to keep things as quiet as possible so the neighbors wouldn't call the cops. None of us were legal except you and Ron and you were on something heavy so was Matt. Both of you were scary as hell."

Charlie looked at Hicks. The man did not change his expression. "The storm had gotten really bad. Ashley suggested we have a séance. She said the old house was perfect for calling forth spirits because it had been used as a funeral home at one time. She had everyone who wanted to take part sit down at the table and hold hands. We turned off all the lights. Ashley had asked any spirits close by to let their presence be known."

"That's when it happened, Charlie!" Hicks slammed his fist down on the table."I was watching, waiting. I had spent the day on my knees praying that the jealousy and hatred towards you that was consuming me would be taken from my heart. But this voice kept telling me that I was right to hate you. That your heart held only evil and you would corrupt the innocent. They told me you already had corrupted my angel and that she had slept with you. They told me that if I paid attention, I would see the signs. I saw you encouraging my angel to consort with demons, to ask them into our home. I saw the demons descending and I heard their cries. I saw the blast of fire from hell as they entered our realm!"

"You saw lightening hit the transformer outside of the house!" Charlie shouted. "Hicks, it was Halloween. Ashley was in drama classes. She was acting. The séance was a setup. We had planed it weeks ahead of time. We borrowed equipment from the AV department. We spent days hooking up fog machines, lasers, projectors and speakers. It was all a show! It was just for fun, for Halloween," Charlie rubbed his tired eyes, "You're a scientist. You have to know we did not contact any spirits or demons because they don't exist!"

"Don't lie to me! Lying is a sin!" Hicks bellowed. "You know what happened that night. I saw the way you looked at me! I saw your eyes!"

"I was dressed as a zombie! Remember we both laughed about it, a zombie Professor Maynard. I had red contacts in my eyes! Of course I looked wicked. That was the idea!" Charlie cringed as he remembered the last time his assailant had accused him of a sin.

He stood and backed up. He kept backing up until he was near a book shelf. It was there he made his move— his stupid, lame move. Charlie grabbed a heavy silver candlestick, intending on bashing Hicks in the head. He hadn't thought that idea out very well. Hicks was trained and he was not.

They fought, but Hicks disarmed him easily. He grabbed Charles's already injured arm causing him to cry out, then he grabbed the candlestick its self, twisting it in Charlie's burned hand, forcing him to let go. Hicks then used the candlestick himself, driving it into Charlie's guts, knocking him to the floor.

Charlie lay there, groaning as Hicks marched from the room muttering. He returned with metal shackles, the kind used on prisoners when they are transported from one place to another. He attached one set to Charlie's ankles and one to his wrists. He pulled the still stunned mathematician to his feet.

"You slept with her, admit it Charlie. You made her a sinner like yourself, a fornicator." Hicks wrapped a rope around Charlie's neck and twisted it, causing him to choke. "My love for her was pure, but you…"

"We were in love, we…" Charlie gasped.

"To lay with a woman who is not your wife is a sin! She was punished and you will be punished. Romans 6:23: For the wages of sin is death!" He hissed, as he dragged Charlie from the relative comfort of the dark house into the heat of the desert.

Charlie had stumbled, bruising his legs with the shackles in an effort to keep up with Hicks' long steady stride. He threw Charlie to the hard packed ground, removing the rope, allowing him to breathe.

"You see that pile?" He pointed to a five foot high mound of heavy rocks.

"Yes." Charlie said, trying to shield his eyes from the sun.

"I want you move that pile from there to there." He gestured at a spot near a broken down fence. "Maybe toiling in this heat will teach you a little humility." he turned to go. "Oh and if you think you can run away, my companion there will be guarding you. Besides, there is nothing around here for twenty miles in any direction. You'd die out there before you found help. I have a lesson to prepare." He turned and went into the house.

Charlie had glanced at the fawn colored dog with an enormous head that was growling at him, watching him. He rose to his feet, resigned to the fact that for the moment, he had to try and placate his captor until he either found a way to overcome him, or help came. He picked up the first rock, struggling under its weight and moved it to the spot Hicks had indicated. He cursed himself for never really caring for strength training. Math professors were not exactly known for their physical prowess. He never thought it was necessary to bulk up but a few more muscles would make the job so much easier. When he got home, he'd have to ask Mike some advice on an exercise program. _'Yeah and that will last about a week.'_ he thought. He couldn't imagine a Mike Donovan boot camp. It might be more pleasant just to stay here and move rocks.

Three hours later, Charlie was drenched with sweat, panting for breath, on the verge of collapse and half the pile still remained in its original location. He fell to his knees, his eyes tightly closed. He was so tired and so thirsty. He didn't even have spit left to moisten his mouth. He stiffened when he heard the footsteps behind him and the cold voice sneer, "You are so weak Charlie. You always were. Three hours and you are exhausted."

"If you don't give me water, I'm going to be dead." Charlie whispered.

"Well, I think that's a bit of an exaggeration. You have a ways to go before you die of thirst, but just to show you I can be merciful, here." he dropped a half empty bottle of water at Charlie's side." Now get up and go back to work. You have two more hours to complete this task. If you fail, I believe I can find an even more unpleasant chore for you." He turned and walked away.

Charlie grabbed the bottle and took a huge gulp of the life giving liquid within. He was tempted to down the entire thing but he thought he might need it later. He struggled to his feet and picked up another rock, his eyes cautiously watching the huge dog the entire time.

"You know what they say about mad dogs and Englishmen don't you?" The dog only looked at him. "They go out in the midday sun." he looked up at the merciless yellow sphere almost directly above. "That's an old Noel Coward song by the way. Mad Dogs and Englishmen; it's either that or a Joe Cocker album or both. Anyway, I'm not English and my guess is you are really not a mad dog. I wonder if that saying also applies to mathematicians. Actually, we rarely go out in the sun, midday or otherwise."

He picked up another rock. Were the damned things getting heavier? "So, your name is Cocidius?" He asked. "You're named for a British warrior god. I saw something about that on a National Geographic special. It must be nice to have your name on Hadrian's Wall. My name is on a plaque at CalSci." he sat the rock down and headed back for another.

"You don't really look like a Cocidius. My Uncle Stan has a dog. His name is Shlomo. I think it means God's peace. Anyway, he's an English bulldog. A smellier beast you have never met. That dog can clear a room faster than, well, Uncle Stan after a brisket and cabbage dinner. To be honest, Shlomo and Uncle Stan really look alike. Don't tell anyone I said that, though I have to admit the dog is the cuter of the two and has a better disposition." He dropped another rock and turned around.

"I need to come up with another name for you, cause Cocidius isn't getting it. Sounds like something Ron picked up at Burning Man. It took nearly a month and every antibiotic in existence to cure it. I'll tell you about that sometime, but you have to keep it a secret because I told everyone I was going to a math symposium in Chicago. You know what else I learned that weekend— that white vinegar and water cuts through all that alkali. It's true. It gets it out of your clothes and your hair better than anything else. You kind of smell like a salad though." Charlie kept working, somehow talking with this beast that supposedly wanted to rip his throat out made it easier.

He looked at the dog who was sitting just a few feet from him. "You know, you kind of remind of a good friend of mine. Maybe it's the shape of your head, but I think I'll call you Larry. Of course your attitude is all Don." He dropped another rock in place.

Charlie stood looking at the creature. He noticed the dog was panting and his bowls were empty. "You're as much a prisoner here as I am, aren't you Larry? What did you do, bark in a profane manner?" he asked softly. He slowly approached the dog. The animal instantly stood and growled. "You know, I have a friend who runs a place for dogs like you. It's kind of a canine deprogramming camp. It's really nice there. It's out in the country on a farm." The dog barked and snarled once.

"No, it's not that kind of 'farm'! It's a real place. She is great with dogs. I am sure I can get you in. She owes me a favor. When Don gets here, I'll make sure we take you with us." Charlie took another step towards the dog. He started to take a sip of his water, but he looked at the empty bowl again. He bit his lip, aware that he could be making yet another big mistake and this one could be deadly. He knelt down and poured some of the precious water into his hand. He offered it to his four footed guard.

The beast hesitated then began to lap the liquid from Charlie's hand. He poured more and soon the thirsty animal had finished off his water. "Wonder if this would work with Mike?" he smiled, "I would use Jack Daniels instead of water but the results might be the same." He sighed and prayed Mike was still alive. He had to be. He just had to be.

Charlie stood then turned and moved the last of the rocks to its new home just as his captor came around the corner.

"You managed to finish without passing out, I'm impressed." He said, standing with his hands on his hips. "Come, it's time for your first lesson."

Charlie glanced at the dog. "See you later, Larry." he mouthed and followed Hicks inside.

"Sit," the madman gestured at the table. He sat a full cup in front of Charlie. "Drink your tea." he said gently."I'm sure you need it."

Gingerly Charlie followed his instructions. The tea tasted different than before. A bit more bitter, but Charlie did not care. It was wet and it was liquid.

"Let's talk about your brother." Hicks said, sitting down and lacing the fingers of his hands together and resting them on the table.

"Don? What has Don got to do with this?" Charlie asked, swallowing hard. He was feeling like he might pass out.

"Have you ever thought about the terrible things you have done to Don, the brother you profess to love so much? Hicks smiled an odd, knowing smile.

"This is all old news. I know I caused Don…"The room seemed to be moving around him. From somewhere he could hear voices murmuring, laughing softly. Shadow figures danced and darted at the edge of his vision. "I don't feel… what did you give me?"

"Just a little something to make you more receptive to what I have to say," Hicks laughed. "Remember the Project? This was one of Dad's little concoctions. I've perfected it over the years. It never lived up to the old man's expectations. He was trying to develop mind control drugs. They never worked really worked. I mean, I could not dose you then order you to strap a bomb to your ass and walk into the FBI building. You would not do that because it simply is not your nature. What it does do very efficiently is break down all your defenses. All those little walls you have built to shield yourself from the truth are going to come tumbling down and you are going to face the real Charles Eppes perhaps for the first time." Hicks grinned, "Of course you get a very interesting trip in the meantime. You should thank me. People pay a lot for that on the street."

"I don't remember…" Charlie was fighting the effects of the drug, but it was no use.

"Of course you don't. Your precious mind, my dear friend, was far too valuable. You were always the control group; always a bridesmaid and never a bride so to speak. I've only given you a small dose. I wouldn't want to drive you insane, not yet. That is one of the unfortunate side effects, paranoid schizophrenia. It doesn't cause it perse, but if it's lurking anywhere in the back of your little head…" Hicks chuckled.

"Now let's talk about Don. You still think he's going to come to save you, don't you? You still believe he is going to burst through that door like Superman and rescue you, even though he has pretty conclusive evidence that you are dead."

"Don is smart. He will believe the forensics, and forensics always finds the truth, no matter how clever you think you are." Charlie said, grasping his own hair. The room was melting and churning. Every sound, every spark of light was magnified ten times over. His skin felt alive, like worms were squirming just below the surface.

"Charlie, let's play a game. Let's play _It's a Wonderful Life_. I want you to consider what Don's life would be like if you had never been borne. Do you think he would be the same man he is now?" Hicks slapped a paper on the table under Charlie's nose. "Read this, if you dare. Read this and find out how your brother sees you, how he really feels."

Charlie looked at the paper. "How did you get this?" He asked, shocked. "These are notes from Don's therapist! No, this is private. I won't read it." He shoved the paper back at his captor. He was losing the ability to tell what was real and what was imagined. Hicks' words seemed to bounce off the walls, and burn themselves into his fevered brain.

"Then I will tell you what he said! I will tell you what he called you. To your beloved brother you are a curly haired black hole who sucks the air out of his universe; he says he didn't hate you exactly, but haven't you ever wondered why he kept his distance for all those years?"

"No, my brother never said …" Charlie choked out the words.

"Yes he did Charlie. You know he did. I can see it in your eyes. He says you are not really a part of his team, but he respects you, Charlie. He respects the hell out of you! Shit, total strangers respect you. I respect you— as a mathematician. I'd expect more from a brother than respect. I'd expect love. In all of this, not once, not even once does he say he loves you. He doesn't even insinuate it." Hicks slammed his hand down on the table as if to emphasize the fact.

"No, please stop. It's not like that. It's…" Why couldn't he concentrate? He wanted to hide behind his math, but the numbers wouldn't come. They had abandoned him.

"And why should he Charlie? If it hadn't been for you and your constant need for attention, you over shadowing every aspect of his life since the day you were born, he would more than likely have been married years ago. He'd probably have a couple of kids by now. If you had never existed Don would have had a normal, happy life. So why should he come to save you? Maybe he does not want you back."

Charlie sat still as death. He felt as if his heart was going to explode. If he had never existed, Don would be a happy man with a wife and kids like most men his age. It was true. He knew it was all true. Don's problems with relationships, with life, were his fault. His fault—and for the first time, Charlie doubted help was coming. He tried to stand, but his legs would not hold him. He fell to the floor, curling up into the fetal position. The floor seemed alive with serpents and thousands of venomous things that crawled, bit and stung. He screamed, knowing the only soul to hear him was the man who would soon kill him.

* * *

He looked around the room in which he spent more time than he did his own home. To an outsider, this would look like an ordinary work day at the FBI. He sat in his cubical surrounded by dozens of folders while the phones in the bullpen rang and were answered in turn. You could hear the soft murmur of voices as information was taken and passed along. Agents moved about the room, drank coffee, and talked quietly among themselves.

A stranger would not realize the overall tone was far more somber, far more subdued than usual. They probably would not notice the women's eyes were red or that the men were not much better off. They would have no hint of the blanket of pain covering everyone who worked here. A stranger would not see that this was an office that had lost one of its own.

Don Eppes glanced at the phone, willing it to ring and yet dreading the call he knew was coming. As long as the body remained a John Doe, he had hope. Once the John Doe became Charlie Eppes, there would be nothing left for him to do but call his father and grieve. He picked up a pencil and broke it, dropping its shards into the trash with the other fifteen pencils that preceded it. He glanced at his watch. It was twenty-five minutes past three in the afternoon. He picked up a folder, and tossed it back on the stack. He hadn't been able to sleep, eat or work since this ordeal began.

All he could think of was his little brother. His mind played images of Charlie like a movie in his head. He saw the annoying curly haired little boy tagging along at his big brother's heels trying to get his attention. The young prodigy with his head bent over books and papers while other boys his age played outside. Charlie on his knees helping Mom in the garden trying to get Don to look at the rose bush he had just planted or asking big brother if he wanted to play. Then, a few years later, the boy who once wanted nothing more than Don's attention, trying so desperately NOT to find himself under his brother's radar so he wouldn't get one of those 'looks'.

Charlie kept to himself most of the time, a boy living in an adult world. His life revolved around books and numbers and classes. Don closed his eyes. Charlie may have received all the glory and all the acclaim, but he had paid a heavy price for it. When Don pictured Charlie as a child, he always saw him alone.

"I should have been kinder, little brother. I should have been kinder." Don whispered and nearly jumped out of his skin when his cell phone rang.

The entire office fell silent and stared as Don hesitantly answered. "Eppes," he said as usual.

"Don," Dr. Tom Addison said, "I may have some news for you."

"Go on," Don said, his heart in his throat.

"The results of the autopsy are still pending. I have sent some tissue samples out for testing. It will take weeks to get the results, but you cannot wait weeks. We ran the deceased through an MRI and I found a couple of interesting things." the medical examiner said. "First, let me ask you something about Charlie. Did he have any kind of back problems?"

Don frowned, "Back problems? No, at least I don't think so. Of course, he had a habit of keeping things to himself. He might not have told us if he did."

"No, this would have been severe. The man on my table suffered from degenerative spondylolisthese with lumbar spinal stenosis. He was extremely young to have problems as advanced as he did. He must have been in a very bad accident at one time because I also found myelomalacia, and hemorrhagic infarction."

"Tom, I have no idea what you are saying! Speak English!" Don shouted.

"The area surrounding his lumbar spine was narrowing and not just a little. This man would have required surgery. His spinal cord was also softening and he was bleeding into his spinal cord. Charlie could not have hidden this from you. The pain would have been excruciating. Very probably, he would have had a great deal of trouble walking even the shortest of distances. Don, the unfortunate man on my table is not Charlie Eppes."

"Are you sure?" Don could barely speak. He was aware the entire office was watching and his team was standing around his desk.

"Yes, Don, I'm sure. I did manage to get some viable tissue for DNA which I have sent to CODIS for a possible ID, but I can promise you, this man is not your brother."

"Thank you Tom. Thank you so much for all you've done." Don said, his hands trembling as he hung up the phone.

"Boss…?" Colby Granger asked, not sure how to read the look on Don's face.

"It's not him." Don said, looking at his team, "It's not Charlie."

"What do you want us to do?" David Sinclair asked, wasting no time.

Don stood, shoving his chair into the wall behind him. "We go over the evidence we have again and again until we find something that leads us to Charlie." Don looked at each of his team, his dark eyes fierce. "If we have to turn over every goddamned rock in L.A., we will find that crazy, genius brother of mine and heaven help the bastard who took him when we do!"

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Ten

_The Wages of Sin_

Charlie Eppes had lost track of time. He was not sure if he had been wondering the streets of hell for a day or a week. He was only certain of one thing: no one was coming. He knew that as surely as he knew his time was quickly running out. Don was not going to ride up on a white horse and save him. Mike was not going to come bursting through the door like Rambo, with a knife clinched in his teeth and guns blazing. As far as his brother or anyone else knew, he was dead—as dead as his mother, as dead as Ashley, as dead as his hopes.

His family was probably in the process of planning his funeral, if they had not already held one. They would never know the body they laid to rest beside Mom was that of a stranger. They would never know that Charlie lay buried in a shallow, unmarked grave in the desert, not that it mattered, he supposed. Nothing mattered anymore. Ashley was gone. His mother, Gary, Ron and all his dear friends from the past, they were all gone. He was really very tired and he had had enough. Even if by some miracle he survived this, maybe it was time he left this game to. At any rate he did not believe in miracles. They only happened in bedtime stories.

Dr. Charles Eppes, brilliant mathematician, author and college professor, would die at the hands of a serial killer who, like the Zodiac, would never be identified. His murder would become a cold case, relegated to an obscure file drawer along with hundreds of others. Every few years, at the insistence of his brother, an agent would go through the evidence again looking for something new, but to no avail. After all, it is difficult to catch a killer who officially died three years before he committed his crimes. And life would go on without him.

Charlie lay sprawled on the hard-packed sand. He was only vaguely aware of the dog howling some twenty feet away. His eyes were slits as he hovered somewhere between waking and dreams. He could almost hear his mother singing to him late at night when he could not sleep, _'You Are My Sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when sky's are gray'_, she would sing in a sweet, gentle voice and stroke his hair. He could almost hear her singing, but not quite. The relentless passage of time was making it harder and harder to picture her face or remember the sound of her voice and that made him unbearably sad.

"Mom, you were right. I never know when to keep my mouth shut." He whispered. It was more a prayer than a statement.

The last beating had been the worst one yet. Charlie thought Hicks was going to kill him and as usual, he was to blame for setting the madman off. Why had he called the bastard '_Lucius'_? Why had he felt the need to prove that he still had the strength to be defiant?

Hicks had grabbed him by the collar of his tee shirt and his hair, dragged him to his feet and slammed him face-first into a mirror hanging on the wall behind them, slammed him with enough force to cause it to shatter. He had been thrown to the floor among the jagged shards of glass and mercilessly kicked and beaten with a wooden rod until he lost consciousness. Hicks had shoved smelling salts under his nose, bringing him too, only to beat him until he again passed out. This time he had been allowed to regain consciousness on his own. He was forced into the chair, his head pulled back, exposing his throat. He felt the sting of sharp, cold steel pressed to his flesh.

He swallowed hard. "You know it's much easier to slit someone's throat if you pull the head forward instead of back, and you don't make nearly as much of a mess from arterial spray." Charlie said then gasped as the blade was gently drawn across his taut skin just deep enough to cause a trickle of blood to run down his neck and disappear into his ruined tee shirt.

"Still feeling impudent, Charlie. Surely you are not holding on to the hope that help is coming." Hicks had said with a sneer.

Charlie shook his head and Hicks released him. Soon Charlie would wish his old friend had cut his throat and ended it then and there. It would have been kinder than what followed. Hicks placed a pile of photographs on the table ordering him to look at them. Charlie had obeyed and was immediately appalled.

"Where did you get these?" He had been scarcely able to speak. "These are classified!"

"Is that all you can say? These are classified? Here, _this_ really is '_classified_' as you call it." He handed Charlie a stack of papers.

Charlie nearly stood up. The papers contained his equations from various times he had consulted for the NSA or the CIA. There were copies of his work for the Agency all the way back to the beginning of their association, all the way back to the Indigo Project. Where had Hicks gotten them? He had to get out of here. He had to let Harrington know, let everyone know, there was a leak at the highest of levels. The implications were terrifying. If this crazy bastard had managed to get copies of his top-secret work, to what else had he gained access? This was a major breach of national security!

"LOOK AT THE PICTURES, CHARLIE!!!" Hicks ripped the papers from the mathematician's trembling hand, "If you help people plan wars, you can surely stomach the consequences of your labors."

And he had, photograph after photograph of carnage, and death and ruin. The ugly, raw face of war stripped of all the sterility of the nightly news or the pretense of Hollywood. These were not actors. The blood was not stage blood. No one would dust themselves off and go home at the end of the day. He had always known full well how his figures were being used, but to have to look at the reality of the bloodshed was devastating.

"While you sit in a room somewhere drinking coffee and scratching away at a blackboard, these are the people your equations move around. These are the people your equations kill." Hicks whispered in his ear.

Charlie shook his head slowly. He had never wanted to hurt anyone. He had only wanted to help. He had wanted to make things safer for troops in the field, to minimize loss. He knew that was not always possible, still he had wanted to try. That was why he had gotten involved in the first place. He had no great love for the Agency or the NSA and certainly not the CIA, but he had hoped his skills could make a difference, could help save lives.

"Do you remember my brother? Do you remember James? You played chess with him. This is where he died. His unit was on a mission mapped out by figures _you_ gave them." Hicks handed him a photograph of the smoldering wreckage of an HMMWV. The broken bodies of the passengers were still scattered about on the ground. "Do you need more proof of the damage you have done? This is all that remains of an orphanage that was supposed to be a terrorist encampment according to your equations. Innocent blood was spilled here. All this death and suffering because you get off on sitting in a think-tank somewhere stateside complaining if you even get a hangnail, playing soldier."

It had been part of his training that in war there was an acceptable percentage of loss and an acceptable percentage of collateral damage. It is unavoidable. It had been his job, not to eliminate the losses, but to keep them as low as possible and he had tried, God knows he had tried. But it is a fact as unalterable as the laws of physics that soldiers die in wars; that innocent, good people die in wars. It had been that way since the beginning of time and would remain so until this old earth spun to an end. Yes — he had known the hideous realities of urban warfare. Hicks forced him to look at what the words 'an acceptable percentage of loss' meant in human terms. He was responsible for this misery. It was his math; his equations. This blood was on his hands. Charlie felt his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. He was going to be sick. Hicks grabbed him, pulling him out the front door into the cold desert night and threw him to the ground. He gagged, but he had not eaten since his dinner with Mike the night he was kidnapped. All he had in his stomach was a little water and tea. He lost it all.

"Did you really think it was a video game, Charlie or a movie? You are playing with people's lives, Dr. Eppes." Hicks sighed. "My father used to say that Charlie is as bright as the Morning Star. Look—" Hicks pointed to a bright object just above the horizon. "There it is, the Morning Star. Beautiful, isn't it? Of course I came to realize what he meant. He was not comparing you to that celestial body. He was telling me, warning me that you are the Betrayer, the Son of the Dawn— the Morning Star. You are evil, Charlie." He was ranting by now, hammering Charlie with his fists as hard as he could. Finally he stopped the pounding and he shouted, "You came into our midst like the snake into Eden. You destroyed my father, you destroyed me!"

The mathematician took deep, shuttering breaths "You give me far too much credit." He said weakly. "You are placing me in a starring role and I had a bit part at best. You ruined yourself and you took your father down with you. You were hurting people, Hicks. How could you experiment on our friends like that, without telling them? Your drugs drove Matt to insanity. You are the reason he is dead. You have even sold your own country down the river and for what, money, that's all, just money." Charlie looked at Hicks with disgust. His eidetic memory once again served him well as he remembered an often misquoted passage an English teacher in high school had made him look up and memorize. He took a second to silently thank Mrs. Gant. His eyes turned cold. In a voice dripping with disdain, he quoted. "_For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after they have erred_ _from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows. 1st Timothy 6:10_, since you are so fond of brandishing the bible as a weapon, you sanctimonious bastard. Did you err from the faith? Is this why you have so many sorrows?" Charlie gasped when incredibly strong hands grabbed him around the neck and began to squeeze.

"You never discovered who the Master was did you, little fox? You never uncovered that secret." Hicks chuckled. "It's too bad." He leaned down and hissed in Charlie's ear, "Because he is the reason you are here, and Charlie, he is not who you suspect." His knee came up with full force, catching the kneeling man in the ribs, knocking the breath from his frail body.

Charlie was brutally dragged across the rough ground to a shovel sticking upright in the dirt. Hicks heaved the shivering man to his feet. "Dig," he hissed. "Dig your own grave. Tonight is the Blood Moon. Enjoy the rising of the sun. It's the last time you will see it."

Charlie took the shovel and began to dig. The ground was hard and he was weak from hunger, thirst and days of unrelenting torment. By the time the sun was at its' zenith, his hands were bleeding from the labor and he was cold and trembling. How can you be cold in the heat of the day in the Mojave Desert? He wondered. Charlie glanced at the dog watching from the shade. He was glad to see his bowls were filled with food and water because he had none to share.

"I'm sorry, Larry. I think I may have made promises to you that I can't keep," Charlie said hoarsely. "I wish I could have helped you, but apparently I can't help anyone. Take care of yourself." He returned to his digging. He felt like he deserved the pain that shot through his body with every shovelful. It was his punishment for being so arrogant as to think he could help save the world. Arrogance and pride were sins weren't they, so perhaps this was a just ending to things— the wages of sin.

Charlie's legs began shaking and without warning, they gave way under him and he fell to his knees. He thought of his promise to his body guard, the one who may have died trying to save him. "Sorry Mike, but I can't hang on. I tried, but I just don't have anything left. Please forgive me." And he collapsed.

It was as he lay on the hard ground, eyes half shut, thinking of his mother and how she sang that little song to him that Charlie came to the realization that he was no longer afraid of death. In fact he welcomed it. The only thought entering his weakened, drug addled brain was that it was almost over, and soon, for good or ill, he would be beyond anyone's reach.

"Thank God." he whispered as the dog let out a low, mournful howl.

Agent Don Eppes poured himself another cup of strong, hot coffee. He sat at the dining room table in his brother's house and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted. He did not remember the last time he had slept or the last real meal he had eaten. Granger had given him a roast beef sandwich for lunch. The team would not leave him alone until he finished all of it, telling him he needed his strength. They were right. The last thing they needed was for the lead agent to collapse. Besides that sandwich, he had eaten nothing in days. Don placed his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together, rested his head on his hands and closed his burning eyes. A multitude of thoughts clouded his mind, not the least of which was thoughts of his father. Had he made a mistake in not bringing him home immediately when Charlie was taken? Even if all Dad could do was sit, wring his hands and worry, wasn't that his right? How would their father feel when he found out he was playing golf and drinking beer with Art while his youngest child was dying?

"Charlie, I don't know what to do! I don't know where to look!" Don said softly. "Please tell me how to help you. I need your input, buddy, like I have so many times before."

That was how GySgt Mike Donovan found him. For a moment the marine thought the agent was praying. If he had been a praying man himself, he might have joined Don. Mike was not a man to kneel or to bow his head, but he frequently spoke to God in his own way. In fact he and The General had a pretty good relationship. They had had a few conversations in the last three days, a couple of them heated and laced with a bit of profanity. He knew The General wouldn't take offense to a marine expressing himself as marines had for ages. After all they were both soldiers.

Mike would never admit it, but he had put in a requisition for the professor's safe return, even though he knew just how unlikely it was that this fiasco was going to have a happy ending. He knew Don Eppes was also aware of the facts in cases like this. No one said the words. No one dared to say the words. Giving voice to them only made it all too real. The unspoken truth hovered over them like a ghost haunting their every move. They spoke of the mathematician as if he would be found unharmed, as if he would soon be home ordering pizza and driving everyone crazy by applying math to every little thing. The cold, hard reality was that Charlie had been missing for nearly three days. There had been no ransom demands, no calls from his kidnapper, no proof of life. Statistically, he had not survived the first night. He had probably been murdered within hours of his abduction. Mike clinched his teeth and reaffirmed his vow to his missing brother-in-arms. He would find the bastard if it took years and before the asshole died, he would experience firsthand the many different ways the marine had been trained to inflict pain.

Mike pulled himself up to his full height, his perfect posture a prime example of the Corps training at its best. He was reluctant to interrupt the fatigued agent in one of the few quiet moments the man had found in recent days, but it was necessary. He had news— news that might piss Eppes off, but at this point, he really was not in the mood to walk on eggs shells so as not to offend the FBI agent. He had no word of Charlie's whereabouts, but their chances of finding him had greatly increased. He had contacted a very trusted colleague in another agency about the abduction of Charlie Eppes thus performing a well executed end-run around Jeremiah Harrington and Don Eppes.

Mike was counting on a fact well-known but rarely acknowledged among its exclusive membership. No one gossips among themselves more than the intelligence community. Within seconds of that call, a network similar to an old fashioned phone-tree his foster mother once ran sprang into action. It took a few hours, but soon the tree began to spread, stretching out its branches from L.A. to D.C. Soon it would bear fruit and he had better prepare Eppes and the team for the invasion heading their way.

Mike Donovan unapologetically approached the FBI agent. He lowered himself into the chair directly across from Don. The agent looked up, his eyes meeting the marine's head on. There was so much he wanted to ask this man, so much he wanted to say. In his heart he knew Donovan was in no way responsible for Charlie's loss, still he was angry at the man. He did not know why. It was an irrational anger. This brave man had nearly died attempting to protect his brother. He should feel gratitude, but all he felt was enmity.

Don was confused about his hostility towards Donovan, but he was racked by guilt for his feelings of anger towards Charlie. He was furious with his little brother for getting into this mess in the first place, for not being here in the dining room with him right now, for not being exactly who he was supposed to be. And Don was furious with Charlie for breaking Dad's heart, for breaking his heart, and damn it, for very probably being dead. Don felt himself shiver as if icy fingers had touched the back of his neck. _'A crow must be walking on my grave.' _Don heard Charlie whisper those words as clearly as if he was standing right beside him. He blinked and licked his lips.

_"Damn you, little brother, I'll never forgive you for leaving us like this." _Don had thought of Charlie as dead and the realization was like a punch to his guts.

Mike could feel Don Eppes' anger. He knew the agent was exhausted, hurting, and conflicted. He understood his feelings, even if Don did not. He had no answers for the man nor did he have the time to concern himself with finding any. Don was an excellent FBI agent, probably one of the best. He knew many things, but he knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about running black ops. Mike knew he had way over stepped his boundaries. He had made decisions that could seriously affect his own and everyone else's future. He did not care. Mike had one objective, the return of Charles Eppes by any means possible, even if it meant running a covert mission that could have serious ramifications on all involved.

"The situation has changed." Mike began without hesitation. "I have received calls from—certain people. They are offering their assistance. We will have access to technology and sources we otherwise would have to do without." Donovan said. "I just want to make sure everyone understands this is not a sanctioned mission. If it becomes public, there could be—consequences."

Before Don could respond, the two men were interrupted by a beleaguered looking David Sinclair, "There are some people at the door saying they are here to wire us up?"

Don Eppes looked at Mike.

"That will be the CIA." Donovan said, his eyes never leaving Don's. "It's okay, Sinclair. They are here to help."

David looked at his boss for conformation and received a curt nod.

The formally quiet living room erupted into chaos as strangers pushed their way past the confused team and began setting up equipment while shouting at each and talking on their cell phones.

"Delaney," Mike asked a rumpled looking middle aged man with flaming red hair, "about how long before you are up and running?"

"Give us twenty, maybe thirty minutes." He said as he unraveled cable from a spool. Then turning his attention to his people he barked, "Listen, we are here to find Eppes, not wreck his house, please be careful and don't make any holes you do not absolutely have to!" He glanced at Mike and winked his eye.

Mike shook his head, _'Geeks!'_ He thought and looked at Don. "Can you call your team? We need to talk."

"Guys, take a break and give the …." Don wasn't sure what to call the people who had invaded his brother's house and were busily moving furniture and setting up computers everywhere."All of you grab some coffee and join us."

Don's gaze returned to Mike's as his team and Larry Fleinhardt found seats around the table. "While we have a moment, I have a few questions for you, Donovan." He said, trying not to let the anger he was feeling show in his voice.

The marine had been waiting for this. He had known the questions were coming. Don Eppes deserved the truth and the truth he would get. He was not going to like it, but he would get it, no holds barred.

Don closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. "Did you know my brother before all this happened?" Don asked.

"I didn't meet Charlie until two weeks ago, but I've known of him for years. Everyone in the community knows Dr. Charles Eppes." Mike said placing his folded hands on the table.

Don leaned towards the larger man. "How many years has Charlie consulted for your—organization?"

Mike looked at him, then at everyone else finding places around the table. "For one thing, Charlie does notmerely_ consult_ for us. He is a full- fledged recruit; has been since he was eighteen or nineteen." Mike felt an odd since of pleasure at the look of shock on all their faces. "What he does is very highly classified, but it is similar to what he does for the NSA or the CIA. Your brother is a very good strategist. You'd be surprised."

Don leaned back and looked at the stack of photographs lying on the table in front of him. He took the group shot and shoved it towards Mike. "This entire nightmare goes back to this group of people, to this Indigo Project. What do you know about it, Donovan?"

"Eppes, if you recall, I gave you this photograph and all the other data we had because we had reached a dead-end. Charlie, the Agency and I went over everything in that envelope a dozen times. Our labs searched the entire contents for any bit of evidence the perpetrator might have left, a partial finger print, skin cells, hair, anything. They came up blank. "

"Then what about the project it's self. We discovered some rumors but nothing substantial. What was this Indigo Project and how was my brother involved?" Don demanded.

Mike hesitated. "From what I understand, the Project was one of the reasons your brother was recruited by Harrington in the first place. He had all the attributes required for that mission. He was young, he has that innocent face, he was idealistic and he was a genius. He was perfect for Harrington's needs at the time."

"He was perfect for what?" Don asked.

"He was perfect to infiltrate the damned thing, to gain the Hickman's trust and to find out what was going on beyond the original intentions." Mike leaned back in his chair. "The Project was funded by The Agency and Fer de Lance among others. I cannot say for sure what they were working on or what happened to bring the whole thing down. No one outside of a privileged few knows the truth. It's all so fucking classified. Harrington knows and you can bet the farm Charlie knows. There is a lot of speculation. I have found over the years, when it comes to this kind of thing, speculation is rarely far off the mark." Mike looked around at the team.

"The Hickman's were supposed to be developing drugs to treat certain disorders like schizophrenia. At least this was the official purpose, the one on the paperwork. Scuttlebutt has it that they were actually developing powerful hallucinogens and other mind control substances for the Agency and the NSA in response to some intelligence we had received that certain less than trustworthy sorts were working on the same. After that little debacle with the CIA a few decades ago they obviously couldn't let news of research like that get to the wrong people, i.e. politicians. The story is that they had found a way to disburse one of the particularly powerful drugs through the air disabling anyone it came into contact with for hours. It could also be absorbed through the skin and be just as powerful as if you inhaled or ingested it. Can you imagine the disastrous effects a weapon like that could have if it fell in to the wrong hands, if was released on a city like L.A. or New York, or what if it was used on troops in combat? A lot of lives would be lost."

"They were developing a WMD." Granger said.

"That is the scuttlebutt." Mike continued. "And here is the really weird part. Rumor has it Jon Hickman himself contacted Harrington asking for the investigation. He suspected his son David of abusing the drugs they were developing, of abusing the Project's subjects and worse, he believed Hicks, as he was called, planned to sell the formulas and the means to weaponize them to the highest bidder, even if that bidder was a terrorist. This is where your brother came in. Charlie, being the kind of guy he is, managed to befriend everyone involved. He has that puppy dog way about him, you know. He's brilliant but he can come off as a little befuddled at times. He turns those big brown eyes on you and he looks so damned sweet and innocent, no one suspects him of anything, even if he's caught with his hand in the cookie jar." He chuckled along with the rest of the team.

"What exactly did my brother do?" Don asked, smiling slightly

"Again this is all only Agency rumor. He discovered the identity of Hicks' contact and the location and date the sell was supposed to go down. Charlie gave this information to Harrington and mysteriously enough, word reached the contact that his mission was compromised and he wisely pulled out." Mike said, tapping the table. "That should have been the end of Charlie's involvement, but, supposedly during his inquires he discovered David Hickman was following the orders of someone higher up, someone in a position of power. I don't believe Charlie ever learned his true identity. He only got the name, Azariah, nothing else."

"Was Charles'‒ spying‒ discovered?" Larry asked, rubbing his mouth as was his habit when he was nervous or upset.

"Was his cover blown? I don't know but some say this Azariah ordered a hit on the entire house. They swear Hicks used one of his drugs to program Matthew Langley to kill everyone at the house that night, wiping out the Indigos. They say killing everyone was really just to cover up the murder of the real target."

"Charles." Larry said softly.

"Yeah, Charlie," Mike nodded. "No one really knows if that's true. Hell, Langley was a nut job all on his own and had threatened everyone more than once, but someone supplied him with that gun. There is no record of his ever purchasing one and no one ever saw him in possession of one." Mike sighed. "From what I understand, your brother fought for that gun like a tiger. The struggle gave the others a chance to escape. The damned thing went off, killing Langley or Langley killed himself. It depends on which rumor you choose to believe. Only Charlie knows for sure and he's not talking. The Agency swept in and cleaned the whole thing up and buried it under a pile of secrecy and bureaucratic red tape about a mile deep. In the end, the Project was shut down and all the evidence confiscated. The Hickman's disappeared from view. The old man spent his remaining days as a hermit and David; well David had mental problems, probably from sampling his own '_cooking'_ that required hospitalization on more than one occasion over the years. He was living with his father when they were both murdered three years ago. You know the rest. Over the last three years, with the exception of Charlie, the remaining Indigos were murdered one by one leading us to where we are now."

"Donovan, we're up and ready." Delaney yelled from the living room.

"We'll discuss all of this later." Don said as he rose from his seat.

"No, Eppes, you'll discuss this with your brother later." Mike said as he pushed away from the table and headed for the living room.

"What have you got for us?" Donovan asked kneeling beside the CIA agent who was typing away at the keyboard.

"We have image enhancing, satellite access, access to every data base out there; in other words, we have it all, now we just need something to go on." Delaney leaned back in his chair. "Have you explained to your FBI pals that this mission is not exactly sanctioned?" He said under his breath.

"I guess I'd better." Mike sighed and stood up. He turned to face the team. "We seem to have hit a wall in our search for Charlie. That is why I took the liberty to bring in some outside help. Everyone you see here is an expert in their—fields. They have the knowhow and the technology available to…well let's just say you'd be more paranoid about Big Brother than you already are if you knew everything they can do, but here's the problem. This mission is not officially sanctioned and if it became public or if something goes wrong, there could be pretty severe ramifications. Anyone who would like to bail should do it now." He gave everyone a chance to make their decision. As expected no one left. He turned towards Delaney. "Start with any calls coming into this house or Charlie's cell. It's a long shot, but it's a place to start."

"How far back do you want me to go?" Delaney asked.

"Try a month." Mike suggested.

"Do you need his cell number?" Don asked.

"Naw, I can get it from the information I have." Delaney smiled and began clicking away.

"Let's go through everything we have again. Maybe there is something we missed." Don said to his team and watched as they split into groups of two.

Don Eppes stood in the doorway watching Mike Donovan as he sat at the desk in Charlie's room helping Larry sort through every journal, every piece of paper, and every drawer again looking for some small thing that might be of use. His anger with the man was not as intense as it had been earlier when the CIA and company invaded the house. He knew Donovan and his 'associates' had ways of finding things out, even if it was not strictly legal. Don no longer cared about legal; he only cared about Charlie.

Don had watched the marine work tirelessly throughout this entire ordeal. He had heard him on the phone telling Harrington he was not leaving this assignment until it was completed and that would be when his charge was safe at home and not before. What Don could not understand was why. Why was this case so important to him?

"I believe I may have discovered something!" Larry said, holding up a small white envelope.

"Let's see," Don stepped into the room and took the envelope from his hands. He looked inside and frowned. All it contained was the butt of a non-filtered cigarette.

"Don, a few weeks ago Charles mentioned that he believed someone had been on the property. He seemed concerned, but not overly so. I told him perhaps he should mention his concerns to you, but he did not want to bother you. He was sure Alan was correct in assuming it was one of the neighbors retrieving a runaway dog." Larry covered his mouth with his hands. "I just thought of this conversation because he said he had found a cigarette butt by the mailbox the next day. It was on the street and had very likely been tossed from a car window, but it bothered him." Larry was shaking. "My God, Don, I am sorry, I did not remember the conversation until…"

"Larry," Don put his hand on the physicist's shoulder, "it's okay. Just take this downstairs and give it to the team. They will take it from there." He patted Larry's shoulder as he dashed from the room.

He turned his eyes on Donovan. "Why are you doing this? You could walk away. Harrington had rather you walk away and move on to your next assignment. Why are you risking so much for someone you just met two weeks ago?" He asked.

Mike looked at Don and took a small breath. "I've been all over the world and I've met all kinds of people from kings to pig farmers. Men like Charlie Eppes are very rare, whether you realize it or not and I'm not talking about his genius. He is a truly good, decent man. There aren't many like him. When we were attacked and I was shot, Charlie was not going to run until I ordered him to. He was going to stay and try to help me no matter what the cost. Your brother said, Mike, you know the rules, we never leave anyone behind. I will not leave him behind now, Eppes. He might be your kid brother but he is one of our own. He's Fer De Lance and that makes him my brother." Mike walked away before Don had a chance to reply.

Charlie Eppes felt a hand touch his face. The shackles were removed from his wrists and ankles and his face was gently bathed with water. Someone was supporting his head and holding a cup to his parched lips. He took a sip then another. Arms reached beneath him, lifting him. He was carried to a dark, cool room and placed on a soft bed. Someone was stroking his hair, comforting him. For a moment, Charlie thought he was home. For a moment he thought his father was taking care of him and everything was going to be all right, but he opened his eyes to find himself looking into the face of his tormentor. He groaned and looked away, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Hicks, please," he whispered, "let me die."

"Poor Charlie, you have suffered so much. The sun will be setting soon and the moon will rise. You only have a few hours left," Hicks whispered, taking the mathematicians raw, bleeding hand in his own and tenderly turning his head so Charlie faced him. "Tell me Professor, does your equations allow for an afterlife? Is there room in your science for that? Do you believe that when we leave this world, we go to some wonderful place where there is no fear, no hunger," he stroked Charlie's hair as if comforting a small child, "and no suffering? A place where everyone we have lost will be waiting to welcome us home? That's what my mother believed. She would read to me from her bible and tell me to be a good boy so I could join her in heaven one day. She made me memorize bible verses and if I got them wrong or if she thought I was having wicked, carnal thoughts, she would burn me with these antique irons. They were originally made to press the fine lace on ladies dresses, but she would heat one up on the stove and… well I learned not to blaspheme at a very early age. Mom used fire to put the fear of God in me, Charlie."

"I'm sorry, I'm so..." Charlie could barely speak, "It's hard to think…I want my brother! Don!" Charlie called, struggling to sit up. Hicks held him down by his shoulders.

"Be still. Your brother is two hundred miles from here so calling for him is futile."Hicks said gently. When Charlie was calm, he left for a few minutes then returned carrying a container of warm, steaming water and a bar of soap. He sat the warm water on the nightstand and carefully began removing the remains of Charlie's tee shirt. Hicks saw the look of terror in his eyes.

"No, leave me alone!" Charlie grabbed at his captor's hands.

"Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. I think you should be clean when you meet your maker. Cleanliness is next to godliness, my mother used to say. Just lay still. I know what I'm doing. During that last year, I would slip dear old dad a little something extra in his oatmeal every morning. He was pretty much an invalid towards the end. I took very good care of him." He continued to talk as he undressed Charlie. He took a wash cloth dipped in the warm water added the sweet scented soap and began washing the dirt and blood from the professor's battered body.

"Mother would sit in an old rocking chair and brush her hair until it shone. She had incredibly beautiful long, black hair. When she was standing, it nearly touched the floor. She called it her crowning glory. If I was very good she let me brush it for her. Then she would braid it and let it hang over her shoulder. I can still see Mother rocking, brushing her hair and singing hymns in this soft, off key voice. _'Shall We Gather at the River' _and_ 'The Old Rugged Cross'_. Did your mother sing to you?"

Charlie, his eyes tightly closed only nodded.

"I guess all mothers do." He smiled at the memory. "Her name was Sarah, after the wife of Abraham. And she was beautiful, like an angel. I saw your mother's picture when I visited your home. She was also beautiful. Tell me Charlie, how did your mother punish you when you were bad?"

Charlie's opened his eyes. He looked at Hicks. "My mother never hurt me, not once." he said softly.

Hicks only smiled at him. "When I was small I thought my mother was a saint, Charlie, I truly did. Then I came home early from school one day and saw my saintly mother and the preacher naked in my father's bed." Hicks' mouth twitched in anger. "I think that was the day I learned there are no saints, not in this world anyway. I never told her what I saw, Charlie. I had plans to make. A month later we went out in the boat on the lake on our farm, just the two of us. She never knew why I threw her into the water that day. She never knew why I pushed her away from the boat, away from safety. Mother chose to wear her hair down that day. I can still see it spread out on the water like black silk as she sank below the surface. She never was a very good swimmer and the weight of her long skirts and her beautiful hair…well." He sighed sadly.

"As she struggled and finally lost the fight I sang to her for a change, I sang a hymn she taught me. _'Shall we gather at the river, where bright angel feet have_ _trod, with its crystal tide forever, flowing by the throne of God_." His voice faded out with the last words. Hicks smiled, leaned over and whispered in Charlie's horrified ear, "I was twelve." He dried his victim with a soft towel, "See, we are all done. I even washed your hair and ran a razor over your face." He held up some clothes. "Do you recognize these? You should I took them from your house." He quickly dressed Charlie and brushed his damp hair.

"You killed your own mother!" Charlie could hardly say the words.

"She was a whore, Charlie. It was my duty. An immoral woman is an affront to God." Hicks pulled a chair up and sat beside the bed. For a while he fell silent then he spoke again. "The man who died in your place, the one your family and friends are grieving over, I think you should know about him. It's important because in killing him, I have made a slight change to my plans."

Charlie felt fear touch the base of his spine.

"I started to kill him just as I have the others. It wouldn't have been difficult. The man could barely walk, but as I went to slice his throat, I saw his tattoo. I saw the horned god and the pentacle covering his left arm. He had the mark. He was one of the evil ones. Perhaps he was even a minion of yours. There is only one way to destroy evil Charlie and that is by fire. Unlike the others, he was still alive when I burned him."

Charlie moaned. "My god, you are a monster."

"And he would still be alive if I hadn't needed a substitute for you so in a sense his death is on your head." Hicks chuckled. "Of course after he burned I sliced his throat as I did the others." Hicks leaned close to Charlie. "You see, the bible says fire is the second death. I have broken your spirit and your mind. You have already asked me to kill you as I told you would. I have made you see all the evil you have brought to this world, all who have died because of you. I believe for your evil to be truly ended, to free your soul from the demon within, you must truly suffer. You will die as the witches of old died, consumed by flames." He took Charlie's arm and gave him an injection. "Spend your last hours contemplating your sins my friend and making peace with God, if you can." He turned and left Charlie alone in the dark.

Fear gripped Charlie as never before. He had accepted that he was going to die on this night. He was not even sorry. He was too broken to be sorry, but the thought of burning sent him into a new kind of terror. It was his greatest fear. He was educated enough to know burning was not instantaneous. He would die slowly and in unimaginable agony. He felt tears running down his cheeks. He curled into a small, trembling ball, and he prayed. He prayed for the mercy of a heart attack or a stroke that would cheat this sadistic madman of his victory. He prayed, not for the first time, for the strength and the opportunity to end this nightmare himself, to find peace under his own terms. He prayed that the family he loved so deeply never find out how he died; that they could remember him without the horror that knowledge would bring. And he sent out a most fervent prayer that Hicks was right about one thing. That somewhere in some beautiful, peaceful place, his mother and Ashley were waiting and that soon, he would join them.

TCB


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Eleven

_Vae Victis _

It was early evening. The sun had not yet sunk below the horizon. Don Eppes sprinkled a little of the special food Charlie had purchased less than a week before in the koi pond. He watched the colorful fish swirl and dive, their little mouths just touching the surface of the water. For a moment he had the impression they were asking why this Eppes was feeding them. Where was their owner, the one who spent so many happy hours sitting in the grass watching them, concentrating on the patterns their constant motion left in the water and quieting his always busy mind for a few blessed moments?

It was a ridiculous thought, of course. Fish were mindless creatures at best with a memory span of no more than a few seconds and they had no capacity to feel any emotion at all beyond the need to eat and survive. Still, he thought the animals missed his brother; the house missed his brother. Despite the multitude of agents ensconced throughout, the old place was empty without Charlie. He loved this house. No one had realized exactly how much until their father had put it up for sale. And no one even imagined the relatively young professor had the resources to purchase it. Many thought he was crazy to do it. The house was beautiful, yes, but it was also old and old houses require constant, very expensive maintenance. He, like Dad and everyone else attributed Charlie's almost pathological reluctance to accept change for his rash decision to buy it, but it was more than that, much, much more.

Don stood and looked at the dwelling in which he had spent his childhood. He knew this home was so much more than the 'sum of its components', as his mathematician brother would say. He remembered late one night, not long after the purchase, he and Charlie had sat in the grass by the pond, both of them groggy, both of them 'three sheets to the wind' as his brother laughingly described their state of inebriation. It had been one of those days with the FBI. He had been forced to shoot a man earlier that day. The man had given him no choice, still he felt guilty. He had come home, as he so often did when he was hurting. The family Eppes had enjoyed a wonderful dinner cooked by their father. He had not mentioned the shooting but Charlie had sensed his needs and had sat with him talking about nothing, drinking glass after glass of merlot while he drank beer after beer. Their father went to bed and he and his brother grabbed a bottle of wine and a six-pack and headed for the pond to continue their conversation. It was during a lull, when neither of them could think of anything to say that he asked the question, why— why would a young man want such an old, outdated place and all the problems that were bound to come with it. Why, since he obviously had ample funds wouldn't he want a new, modern place in a younger neighborhood?

Charlie had thought for a moment. He had pulled his knees up, wrapped his arms around them and had said in that soft, shy way he has when he is trying to be serious and not sure if he will be understood, criticized or laughed at.

_"Don, a house is a living thing. It absorbs all the energy and emotions within its walls and it holds on to that energy forever. It becomes as much a part of a home's makeup as the wood in the floors and the glass in the windows. This old house has absorbed a lot of energy over its lifetime. It has seen a lot of history. A couple of years ago, I kind of got curious about this place so I researched it. I have the records and some photos in my safe deposit box if you'd like to see them sometime. Do you realize that when this house was built, Teddy Roosevelt was president? It was an election year and Taft won. It was here when the Titanic sank. It has seen The Great War, the one they called The War to End All Wars and the Spanish Flu epidemic that followed. The boy who had my room at that time was killed in the Argonne Forest and was buried over there. His name was Ed, Ed Sterling and he was seventeen when he died." _

_"This place was a bordello during The Jazz Age and was nearly lost twice during The Great Depression. The lady who owned it then took in boarders to make ends meet. There was a tent city not three blocks from here where the desperate subsisted on prayer and occasionally Hoover Stew made of rotting potatoes, onions and rat if one could be caught. It saw World War II begin and end. I'll bet the family who owned it then sat in the living room and listened to FDR deliver his 'A day that will live in infamy speech' on a Philco radio sitting about where we have the television now. Their name was Davidson and they lost two sons in that war, Craig who was nineteen, died at Normandy and Frank was lost during Midway. He was twenty. That war gave us the Atomic Age and faded into Korea which faded into Vietnam. The boy who had my room then was killed on January 31, 1968 in Da Nang on the first day of the Tet Offensive. His name was Charlie, just like me and he wanted to play baseball, just like you. I sometimes wonder about those lost so far from home. I find myself talking to them at night when sleep just won't come. I wonder what they would have been like if they had lived. Would they have had kids, worked in the factories, or been a great pitcher for the Sox's? Were their parents proud of their sacrifice or bitter and angry at the loss?" _

_"This house has seen years of prosperity, self indulgence, recession, depression, world wars, terrorism, death and wars and so called police actions in distant corners of the globe, so much for The War to End All Wars. It has survived it all. It has known renovation, earthquakes, the birth of babies, the deaths of occupants, both old and young and a dozen owners over the years. Some simply left their mark briefly and moved on, others loved this place with a passion and others died young and never had a chance to find their own place in the world. All of them are still here in one way or another. You can hear their voices in the groan of the joists on a windy night or the creak of the floors as the house settles. Yeah, Don, I could buy almost any house I wanted, but this place is alive, it has a soul like a new more modern place never could, not for many years. It's magical. How could I let that go?" He had grinned sheepishly, "Besides, this place has secrets only I know, why even here in this garden not very far from where we are now, you might be able to find the answer to a long forgotten mystery." _

_"What, is Jimmy Hoffa buried here?" Don remembered laughing as he stood up._

_Charlie had grinned. "No, he was chopped up, packed in car trunks, crushed and sent to China as scrap metal years ago." _

_"I've discovered one of your secrets tonight, my mathematician, genius little brother." He had said, slurring his words. "Despite your stubborn insistence that you only believe what can be scientifically proven, you are, deep in your heart, a poet." He held out his hand to help his brother stand._

_"You don't have to be insulting." Charlie had said as Don hauled him to his feet. _

_"No, the secret is out Mr. math guy PhD talking to ghosts in the middle of the night; you have the soul of a poet." Don had put his arm around his brother's shoulders._

_"Well, I am reading 'In Search of Lost Times' You probably know it as 'Remembrance of Things Past." Charlie had admitted._

_Don had squinted, "You're reading what?" _

_"Proust, big brother, I'm reading Proust." Charlie snickered._

_"Why? Are you taking a course? Did you lose a bet?" _

_"No, I'm not taking a course and I didn't lose a bet. I didn't get to enjoy it the first time I read it. I had to rush through it too fast. Now I am rereading it for pleasure. I have a whole list of books I intend to reread because now I can really enjoy them." _

_"You're a weird one, Chuck." Don had nearly fallen and Charlie had caught him. _

_"Yeah, well don't call me Chuck, Donald, or I'll leave you right here by the pond until the sprinklers come on in the morning." Charlie had slipped his arm under his brother's arms to keep him from falling. _

_"Guess you were right earlier. We're three sheets to the wind." He had said._

_"Big bro, I am three sheets to the wind. YOU, Mr. FBI guy are shitfaced." Charlie had laughed and helped him up to his room, dumping him on the bed and helping him out of his clothes. _

_"Charlie, you are a good baby brother, the very best." He had muttered as he fell asleep. _

_"Goodnight, Don." Charlie had moved the wastepaper basket to the edge of the bed, just in case he needed it and tucked a blanket around him. _

_"Charlie, you don't really think this house hears you when you talk to it do you? I mean you don't believe there are ghosts here? They don't talk back to you, do they?" He had asked as Charlie started to leave._

_"Of course not, it's just a coping mechanism." Charlie smiled._

_"Glad to hear it 'cause I'd hate to have to explain to the Bureau that my little brother sees and talks to ghosts." He had muttered as he fell asleep. "Charlie, I…"_

_"You what, Don?" Charlie leaned against the door jamb for a second._

_"Nothing, see ya in the morning." He had pulled the blanket over his head._

_"Sure, see ya in the morning." Charlie had said and walked down the hall to his room. _

Don took a deep shuddering breath. Anyone who spent much time at all under the roof of this home said it was magical. Don sincerely believed that to be the truth and in his heart he knew part of the magic came from his brother's deep abiding love of the place. Part of Charlie was embedded in the very walls, the fine woodwork, in the soul of this house vintage house and it always would be. Don closed his stinging eyes. Charlie was the only one of them who had realized its importance to their family. In his foolish purchase of an old house he had preserved the family heritage for all of them. Don swore that if it was not the will of heaven that his brother return to his treasured home, that he, Don, would honor him by accepting his final gift. He would raise his future children in this house, grow old here and one day, the fates allowing die in his bed within these walls. He prayed one of his children would continue the legacy and that this magical place would always be the Eppes family home.

Don glanced at the blue gnome. Earlier he had filled in the hole and returned it to its proper place_. 'I might be able to find the answer to a long forgotten mystery__—__ good one, Charlie!' _He thought with a was it Charlie had named the ugly thing years ago? Oh yeah, Coach Hart, after their hated gym teacher in high school. The man had it in for poor Charlie from day one and ran the slight boy into the ground. Dan smiled. The Coach was infuriated by Charlie's complete lack of coordination and he had made fourth period gym hell for him. Too bad the macho coach did not take into account that what Charlie lacked in athletic skills, he more than made up for in mental agility. It could never be proven that the device that erupted, filling the Coaches prized classic 1966 Mustang with polyurethane foam was Charlie's work, but his kid brother had an oddly satisfied smile on his face as they stood in the parking lot with half the student body watching the gym teacher stomp and curse. Don had looked past his friends and caught his kid brother's eye. Charlie had given him that 'Who, me?' look and walked away. He had known the truth at that moment and had felt a great sense of pride in his annoying younger brother. Now, so many years later, he was still proud of him for that clever act of vandalism, even though they never spoke of it.

Don crossed the yard to the patio. He sat down in one of the chairs and closed his eyes. He should be inside with the others, but he had remembered the fish needed care. If his brother came home and found he had allowed the slimy things to starve or even lose a scale, there would be hell to pay. He had taken care of the aquarium in the living room first then he had headed out back to feed the koi. There he had gotten lost in his thoughts of his brother. Charlie rarely let anyone see his less logical, more whimsical side, but that night with the help of a lot of booze, he had.

At the moment, he was of little help inside anyway. Everyone had their noses buried in computers and there comes a point where there are just enough people in an area that they start getting in each other's way. They had passed that point at least three people ago. The agent decided that he needed to push his ego aside and give the experts room to work. If they found anything, they would come and get him. He needed air.

Don sighed when Mike Donovan sauntered up and took the next chair. The marine had changed from the tee shirt and jeans he wore earlier into desert camouflage pants, a tan tee shirt and combat boots. His Sig was once again at his waist and Don guessed if you searched him, you would find another weapon or two hidden somewhere on his person. His injured arm was still bandaged, but the sling was gone. This was a well trained military man ready for action at a moment's notice. He began to wonder if Donovan really was a man at all or if he was a cyborg constructed by Cyberdyne Systems. _'If he asks for John Connor, I'm running,' _Don thought.

"Eppes, I brought you some fresh fuel." The marine said, sitting a cup of hot coffee in front of Don. "They kick you out too? That damned Delaney accused me of hovering over his shoulder asking questions and making him jumpy." He said. "Can't say that he's wrong. I'm not much of a button pusher and sitting around when there's a job to do makes me want to kick the shit out of something. You could say I'm a simple man who likes simple solutions." he patted the Tactical and smiled.

"I didn't give them a chance to kick me out. I left on my own." Don said, exhaustion obvious in his voice. He took a sip of the coffee. It was perfect. How did Mike know exactly how much cream and how much sugar to add?

"Nice garden, kind of Zen. While I was guarding him, Charlie wanted to sit out here in the evenings. I told him it was far too exposed, but we did it a couple of times anyway. He's a very persuasive man." Mike sat his cup on the table. "It's part of my training." He said slyly.

"What?" Don looked startled.

"I'm trained to be to be hyper-observant. I've seen you get at least a dozen cups, that's why I know how you take it. I can tell you how everyone in that room in there takes theirs, if you want to know that is." Mike looked at Don.

"I think I can let that bit of information go by." Don looked at his hands for a moment then at the marine, "I owe you an apology." He said, his voice trembling. "I know you did everything you could to protect my brother and there is no way I can ever repay you for all you've done to try to find him. I was just so angry with you. I'm angry with Charlie and…"

"Eppes, you're not angry with me or your brother. You're angry with the situation and with the fact we're fumbling around in the dark looking for any crumb we can find that might lead us to him. Hell, I'm furious myself. I'd punch a hole in the wall with my fist, but then I'd have to fix it and I really hate drywall work." Donovan interrupted.

Don held up his hand. "Please, let me finish because I'm not good at this kind of thing. I want you to know that I'm sorry if I did or said anything to make you feel responsible. I need to tell you that." He took a deep breath. "I think we both know the odds of finding Charlie alive are not good. We both know we're probably on a recovery mission and not a rescue. I just… I need to bring him home. I need to bring my little brother home, Mike. He needs to be here, with his family so we can take care of him."

Mike Donovan only nodded and took a sip of coffee. The two men sat in silence watching the light of day fade. "We'll bring him home, Don. One way or another, we'll bring him home." Donovan said, his gray eyes looking into the distance. "And when we do, I'll hold him and you kick his ass for causing all this trouble." He said and both men smiled.

Don looked out over the garden. For a moment, he thought he saw his brother standing by the koi pond. Charlie turned, smiled, and then was gone. He felt pain stab his heart as he realized Charlie would always be here, by the pond, admiring the roses or wondering through the house. He would never know his brother as an old man. Charlie's curly hair would remain dark and his face unmarred by lines, a phantom frozen forever in time.

"Boss," Both men looked up to see Colby Granger crossing the well manicured lawn, "they want the two of you inside, now!" He shouted.

The two men looked at each other and charged after the younger FBI agent.

"What's going on, guys?" Mike asked kneeling beside Delaney.

Don was standing behind Larry, his hands on the physicists' shoulder. "Did one of those phone numbers check out?" He asked.

"Don, most of those of the calls were from expected sources, you, Alan, the university, and me; nothing unusual except for this one. It matches no known source and the calls last less than a minute. It looks like he received a call every night at exactly eight PM for a week then the number changed and then it changed again. We cannot trace it because it is a disposable cell. We do know that the calls bounced off a tower very near this location."

"In other words, all it tells us is that these calls came from close by this house." Delaney chimed in. He held up the cigarette butt clamped firmly in a pair of tweezers, "but this little beauty just might be singing a prettier tune."

"Delaney, just tell us!" Mike snapped.

"Well, this is no ordinary cigarette. It's a Gitanes and you can't just run down to the Seven-Eleven and buy them. You have to go to a specialty shop or order them yourself. We are trying to trace back any orders or sales of this brand from every shop in a thirty mile radius over the last month. We are also tracing any internet sales and…."

"DELANEY!" Mike barked loud enough to make the entire room jump.

"If you will calm the hell down, Fleinhardt and I may have come up with something right about ….now." He hit a key and a list of names began appearing on his screen. "Shit! Who knew so many people smoked Gitanes!" he hissed under his breath. "Most of these are French names so it's probably their favorite brand from home and there are a few women, let's eliminate them for now… and that leaves us with….hummm." he tapped a few more times then began to read out loud. "Keith Willis, Jeff Jones, Lance Barnes, Robert Shank, Prentice Maggio, Anthony…"

"Wait!" Larry shouted, "Did you say Prentice Maggio?"

"Yeah, do you know him?" Delaney asked.

Larry nervously ran his hand through his hair, "I know the name. Prentice Maggio was a math student at Princeton during Charles' first year. He was brilliant, but fragile. One day, without a word to anyone, he walked into his dorm room and blew his brains out. After that, the students began referring to suicide as the Prentice Maggio Solution." He looked at Don. "You know, it solves all problems." He explained.

"If he's dead, then this can't be…" Mike started to say.

"No, but how many people named Prentice Maggio could there be. Delaney, run that name and see what you can find." Don said as he pushed his way past Mike, "_Charlie, bless you, you have given us your input after all! You never let me buddy, you never let me down!" _He thought_._

The agent continued to mutter and punch away at his keyboard with lightening speed, "He ordered the cigarettes through a shop in Van Nuys around three weeks ago. He must have been almost out 'cause he had them flown in. Let's see, okay, he paid cash so there is no credit card record and he picked them up himself. Here's a phone number so they could contact him when his order came in."

"Colby, check this number against the incoming calls to Charlie's phone." Don read the number off as he stood up.

"We have a match!" Colby said. "That is one of the calls from the disposable phone. He received three calls from that number and then the bastard must have tossed it because the next number is different."

"So we know he is using a fake name and he buys French cigarettes. We still have no address or anything else to go on." Mike said.

Don thought for a minute, "I wish we had time to get the shop's security records for that day." he sighed. "I'd like to get a look at this bastard."

"Hennessey, do your thing." Delaney said, nodding at a thin balding man with wire framed glasses, as he stood up and stretched. "I need coffee."

"You can hack the stores security system?" David asked, standing behind the agent as he began typing.

"Well, it depends. If it's tied into the internet then, yes if it's a cheapo internal system then no, but we can get the records from the street security system." He said.

David narrowed his eyes, "Don't you need a warrant?"

Hennessy shrugged and chuckled softly. "Dr. Eppes has top security clearance and is privy to a lot of very sensitive material." he glanced at Don who had joined David. "Your brother knows where more than a few bodies are buried. If any questions come up, I'll just cry Homeland Defense. That pretty much excuses anything these days."

"You can do that?" Don asked.

The agent just smiled and continued his work. "And we're in. I'm going to narrow the perimeters to around the time he picked up the order and hopefully…I'll bet that's our guy." He froze the picture.

Don, Mike and the team gathered around the agent. The highly pixilated figure on the screen was tall and his face was covered by a thick scruffy gray beard. He wore dark aviator style sunglasses and a gray hoodie. The hood was pulled up covering much of the face.

"Do all of these nut jobs get fashion tips from the Unabomber?" Colby Granger asked.

Don frowned. "David, pull up the security tapes of the bombing."

"Do you mind?" the agent asked Hennessey, leaning past him.

"No, go ahead." he stood so David could sit down.

David was not familiar with Hennessey's setup so it took him a couple of minutes, but soon an out of focus picture of the street appeared on the screen. Charlie and Mike were leaning on the blue Prius. Ashley DeVoe and Ken Meyers were standing by the door to the building. The team braced themselves. Larry covered his mouth with his hands. This was not an easy thing to watch. Charlie looked up and to the left. He started to walk away with Mike at his side and suddenly there was a bright flash of light both from the car and the building. Charlie was flung through the air like a rag doll landing out of view of that camera.

"Every time I see this I'm amazed. He should have been killed or at the very least seriously injured. I don't know how he survived." Colby said softly.

"David, do you remember what Charlie said about the bomb in his interview?" Don asked, squeezing his friend's shoulders.

"Yeah, he said he was leaning against his car and someone called his name. The thing went off before he could see who." David said.

"Now run the tape from right after the explosion and run it slower." Don watched the images intently. "Stop! There— isn't that the same man? I mean, his beard is gone but look at the hoodie and the glasses."

"I think you're right!" David said. "I'm going to run the crowd pictures just afterwards." He put them up, one by one until he reached the one of Mike Donovan, his arms around Charlie supporting him and trying to get him out of the area. "That's him," he said. "Look at the group of people standing just past the debris, the man behind the woman in the red shirt."

"Can you zoom in on him?" Don asked, gripping the back of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white.

"Yeah," He pulled the image up as large as he could. The face was now clean shaven, but the size of the man, the glasses, and the damned hoodie. It had to be the same man.

"There's not much of a face to go on, but I could try and run it through facial recognition and see…" Delaney started to say.

But Larry Fleinhardt had pushed Colby and Delaney aside. "Can you focus in on his right hand and his chin?" He asked.

"Sure but it's really not going to be very clear." David said.

"I am aware. Just humor me." Larry was fairly shaking with excitement.

David did as the physicist asked. Larry leaned in and examined the images very closely.

"Is there a reason for this?" Don asked impatiently.

Larry shook his head slowly saying, "Sherlock Holms had a saying, 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable must be the truth'. Hand me the group photograph of The Indigo Project."

"What the hell is this about?" Don demanded as he took the photograph from Colby and handed it to Larry.

"It is about a ghost, Don." Larry held the photograph next to the images on the computer screen."Look at the burn scar across the right hand and the small scar on the chin. This is David Hickman."

"No, it can't be." Don moved closer and froze as he gasped, "My God!"

But it was. Despite the fact the man died three years before, the figure standing in the crowd watching Mike lift his battered brother from the ground was David Hickman. The very distinctive scars matched perfectly. Don felt his heart beating faster. He wondered how it was possible that Hickman was alive, but the how's were going to have to wait. Right now they needed to find out where this madman had taken his brother.

"Delaney…" He started to say.

"I'm already on it." The agent said from his computer.

The room was dead silent as Delaney and Hennessey worked, trying every avenue available to find some clue as to where Hickman might be hiding. Mike Donovan was on his cell pacing like a tiger in a cage. Don was not sure who he was talking to, but the conversation was heated. To the FBI agent time seemed to have come to a standstill. He felt like he was on the verge of screaming at everyone in the room when Delaney slammed his fist into the table.

"Yes!" He shouted. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"What have you found?" Don asked.

"At first I didn't find anything that would help us, just the usual. The date of his birth, schools he attended, the date he graduated from college and of course the date he was supposedly murdered so I tried another tack. I ran Jon Hickman. I found his purchase of the house in Cambridge. He also owned a farm in Virginia that belonged to his late wife, Sarah. Now, here's where it gets a little hinky. The old man was not well that last year. In fact he was bedridden for much of it. His son had his power of attorney which he used to sell a couple of the old man's properties for practically nothing. He sold the farm to a holding company, Prentice Industries. Give you two guesses who the CEO is. He also sold a parcel of land in the desert about two hundred miles west southwest of here. That land had been in the Hickman family for over ninety years and was purchased by— Prentice Maggio. I found the plans and permits for tearing down the original structure and building a pretty large house, and it looks like it was completed less than a year ago."

He ran his fingers over the keyboard. "And here it is via satellite image. The full moon is helping but we're using night vision so it's not clear, but that's the place."

A large house appeared on the screen. It was dark, making it difficult to make out much detail, but there appeared to be a high wall surrounding it and an old dilapidated barn, probably original, and some kind of scaffold behind it.

"Now here's the part where you conspiracy nuts start worrying." He punched more keys. "Of course with heat rising from the desert, it's a little more difficult, but I'm getting three heat signatures. Look close and you can see two greenish figures outside and moving. It's too dark for detail but, I think that one is probably a coyote or a dog. I'm guessing dog because by its movements, it's either penned up or chained and what kind of whack job would keep a coyote for a pet. The other is a large man. You can see him by the scaffold. The third one is in a back room, not moving, sleeping maybe, but since I'm able to get a signature, alive." He smiled. "Big Brother is watching." he said softly.

Don and Mike stood in silence for a few long minutes, both of them thinking the same thing. This was the best lead they had; this was the ONLY lead they had. They could waste more precious time and research it further or they could act now and if they were wrong, in all likelihood, Charlie would never be found at all. The choice was agonizing, but in the end they both knew they had to act and act fast.

"I've a team standing by. I'm going to get them moving right now." Mike said as he pulled his cell from his pocket. "The two of us, Sinclair and Granger are taking another route. We need to get to the airport— NOW."

There was no time to ask questions. The house erupted into pandemonium. The four men raced for Don's SUV. If they broke one law, they broke a dozen. Don kept his lights flashing all the way, but L.A. traffic is always hell. No one spoke. They all knew what was at stake.

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Charlie lay as still and quiet as the dead, his hands folded serenely over his chest as if he were laid out for viewing. He watched as the last of the light filtering through the thick curtains faded to black. Outside, he could hear the wind picking up. It groaned and moaned like a lost soul through the eaves of the house. The door of an outbuilding slammed open and shut and a wind chime rang like dozens of tiny bells growing softer and louder with the strength of each gust. He could hear the sound of hammering close by. The hammering had been going on for hours, since shortly after Hicks had left him. The mathematician didn't even want to speculate on what his captor was building. He only knew he would complete it soon. He knew that when that hammer fell silent, his time would be up. Every once in a while, Hicks baritone voice floated in on the wind as he sang that same Nick Cave song he had been singing on that night when the world as Charlie knew it ended.

He closed his eyes and for a moment, he was home. Don was getting a beer out of the fridge then he and Dad would settle down in front of the TV to watch a game. He sat, an entity apart, watching his father and brother and listening to their easy banter. He loved them both so much it hurt. He reached out to touch his brother, but just as he laid his hand on Don's shoulder, he was pulled back into the reality of his hell. Hicks turned on the Tiffney lamp, bathing the room in soft light. He sat on the edge of the bed and smiled slightly.

Laying a cool hand on Charlie's forehead, he frowned. "You have a high fever. Well, no matter, the game is almost over, little fox, and soon all will be set right." Hicks softly said as he bound Charlie's wrists with coarse rope. "It's such a beautiful night I thought you might enjoy a last look at it before you die. The moon is full and the stars, Charlie, there must be a million stars out tonight all shining as brightly as diamonds. But first I thought we'd share a drink. I have a fine red wine I'm sure you'll enjoy." He slipped his arm underneath his prisoner and helped him to sit. "I know you must feel faint from the fever and that last injection I gave you was a fairly large dose of one of my more potent creations. It should be wearing off by now, but you'll be disoriented for a while. Of course, you really don't have much time left. The drugs will help you through I suppose." He gently touched Charlie's hair and wrapped a curl around his finger. "Charlie, don't do anything to make me have to hurt you again before your final punishment. I really prefer not to. Let's just enjoy the wine and the night." He laid his hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Can you stand? You must be weak." He took Charlie's hands and pulled him to his feet. "If you need to lean on me, it's okay. I'll help you."

Charlie shook his head. He wanted no help from his murderer, if he fell flat on his face and had to crawl, then so be it, he would crawl. He took a step, feeling unsteady on his feet. He forced himself not to shudder as a firm hand wrapped around his uninjured arm and led him to the living room. He sat in the chair by the fireplace, glad for the warmth against the chill of the room. He watched Hicks as he took a bottle and two glasses from a sideboard, sitting one glass on the table in front of him. Hicks filled both with ruby red wine.

"Go ahead, drink. I think you'll like it." Hicks took a drink of his wine and motioned for Charlie to do the same. Then he turned and took a plate and utensils from that same sideboard and sat them on the table. "I hope you don't mind. I've been working all day and I'm famished." He began to cut into a thick, steak. The blood ran from the rare meat and mixed with the potatoes.

Charlie sat in silence, his eyes dark eyes almost blank. He made no move to pick up the glass.

"Not thirsty? Okay, suit yourself. It's really very good. Someone of your discriminating taste should appreciate it." Hicks cut another slice of steak, chewed and washed it down with a gulp of wine. He smiled. "I would offer you a last meal, but I doubt you feel like eating." Some of the juice from the all but raw meat ran down his chin. He dabbed it away with a napkin. "Sorry. I always was a slob if you recall, but I love a good thick piece of beef."

Hicks laughed and continued consuming his meal like a ravenous dog, stopping only long enough to gulp the expensive vintage as if it were a cheap table wine. He seemed unusually elated, and cheerful. He was blathering meaningless banalities, as if he was entertaining an old friend he hadn't seen for a while, as if murder was the last thing on his mind. His eyes were bright with anticipation of the horror to come. When his plate was empty, he pushed it aside, poured himself another glass of wine, and leaned back in the chair.

He grinned. "That was perfect, if I do say so myself. I'm going to sleep well tonight, like a fat, lazy cat after devouring a particularly juicy mouse." He chuckled and motioned at Charlie's still untouched wine. "You really should drink that. I bought it especially for you and it might help you later." Charlie only looked away. Hicks sighed, feigning sadness, "No? It's a shame, after all this is your last chance to experience this excellent nectar." He picked up the glass and leaning his head back, drained glass of the rich, deep red liquid himself. "Good wine truly is a gift from the gods, don't you think?"

"Why are you doing this?" Charlie asked in an almost inaudible voice.

"You know why." Hicks' eyes turned as cold as steel.

Charlie shook his head, "No, I need the real reason. At least give me that before I die."

The larger man, his once handsome countenance marked by many years of a life consumed by hatred, his soul ravaged by bloodletting and vengeance, shrugged. "Charlie, we all have our orders." He said and looked at the grandfather's clock as it chimed the half hour. "It's almost time for this game to end, dear friend, almost time for your sins to be burned away by a holy fire." He stood and wrapped a noose around his prisoner's neck, tightened it and used it to pull him to his feet. "I promised you a last look at the stars. Let's go."

Charlie was not sure he could walk, but he forced himself to move. He was weak and shattered. The night was cold and the wind and sand cut through his thin shirt like a thousand knives. He was sick with dread. The remaining effects of the drugs and the fever made the scene before him dreamlike and the torches lighting his way cast hellish shadows. He looked up at a midnight blue sky alight with untold brilliant stars. A huge full moon hung over the barn, silhouetting the rundown building and the newly constructed scaffold looming before him. Light from the torches reflected off the wooden gallows-like structure. It was not difficult to discern Hick's plans. He would hoist Charlie up by his arms until his feet no longer touched the ground. Then Hicks would pile the firewood and kindling around him as high as it would go. He would douse the dried wood with gas and set it ablaze with one of the torches.

Cold, blind terror filled Charlie's heart as he was forced to his knees. "Bet you wish you'd drank that wine now." Hicks said and turning, he flung open his arms. "Soon the seventh angel will sound the seventh trumpet, Charlie, the third woe will descend, the gates of the Kingdom will open and there will be lightening, and voices and thunder and great hail. The sea will give up its dead, the dragon will walk the earth and all will be judged, Charlie, all. The seven angels will empty their vials upon the earth, the final seven plagues." He lowered his arms and turned towards Charlie. He grew quiet. Charlie could hear the crackle of the torches, the somber moan of the wind. "And the seventh angel poured out his vial into the air and there came a great voice out of the temple of heaven, from the throne, saying," He gently touched the top of the kneeling man's head, "it is done." He whispered.

Charlie moaned, feeling tears stinging his raw, battered cheeks. His body tensed, and from somewhere deep within his tormented soul, he found strength. He remembered his resolve not to die at this madman's hands. If he was destined to meet death on this night, it would be on his own terms, and he had no intention of suffering a death by fire. He would rather the desert take him. He closed his eyes for a second and said a quick prayer to whatever angels might be hovering nearby, he made his move.

Perhaps if Hicks had been expecting him to fight, it would not have worked, but Charlie took advantage of his kneeling position and the element of surprise. He balled his fists and slammed his captor as hard as he could in his manhood, then when Hicks doubled over in shock and pain; the mathematician fell back and with both feet, kicked his opponent square in the knees. He went down. Charlie turned and tried to scramble to his feet, but Hicks had recovered and grabbed Charlie by his ankles. He had the weight and experience advantage, but Charlie was panicked and fighting for his life. Pure instincts and adrenalin had taken over. He bent his knees; his hands grasped Hicks by his long hair. Charlie plowed his feet into the monster's guts and using all his strength, kicked, sending him flying over his head to the ground behind him.

Charlie was on his knees. He had little time. Hicks was far stronger than him and in far better shape. Charlie looked around for anything he could use. He saw Hicks getting to his feet. Out of the side of his eyes, Charlie saw a piece of firewood. He rolled, grabbed it and swung catching Hicks in the shins. He yowled in agony and fell to the ground. Charlie spotted the knife on the ground beside his prone enemy. He picked it up, sliced the bindings from his wrists, and removed the noose from around his neck and tossed it to the ground. He was free of his bonds and he was on his feet. He started to run, but Hicks grabbed him from behind.

"You son of a bitch, you will not deny me my retribution!" The monstrous hulk shouted.

Charlie pulled free, stumbling backwards, nearly falling over the shovel still sticking up from the grave he had dug a lifetime ago. He grabbed it, his eyes narrowed. Don had never wanted to play with his little brother, but one sunny afternoon, a bored fourteen year old had taught his nine year old brother how to swing a baseball bat. Charlie remembered that lesson. He swung the shovel with all his might catching Hicks in the guts. The wind went out of the man. Then, before he could recover, Charlie brought the shovel around again, catching him in the head. Hicks dropped like a rock and this time he didn't move again. Charlie could see the blood oozing from a gash at the side of his head and trickling from his ear.

The tormented, broken man stood over his tormenter, knowing he could, with one swing, maybe two, bring the heavy shovel down and smash the hated face into a bloody pulp, he could burst the head like a ripe melon and spill his brains onto the dry, cracked earth. No one would blame him. It would be self defense, pure and simple. His hands shifted on the handle of the shovel. He planted his feet firmly in the sand. He could hear the wind whip the flames of the torches. Cocidius was frantically barking and howling as if assuring him he was justified. His eyes opened wide and set his mouth in a firm line. He raised the shovel over his head and with a bloodcurdling shriek, swung, sending the weapon end over end into the darkness.

Charlie stood sobbing; his head hung back, his arms wrapped around his tortured body. He knew he may very well have condemned himself, but he could not, WOULD not become the monster lying at his feet. Charlie looked down at a man he knew he had some part in helping to destroy. He took a step back, and turned. He started to run, but he stopped. His eyes went to the gas can and the dried firewood. He glanced back at his still unconscious captor; if this demon wanted Armageddon, than Charlie would give him a conflagration. He drenched the wood with the gas, took the torch and lit the pyre at several different points, he lit the scaffold, and finally he tossed the gas can and still burning torch into the broken down barn. He hurried to the dog he called Larry and released him from his chain. He spun on his heels and ran for freedom.

Charlie Eppes hit the eight foot wall surrounding the compound at full gallop. He was glad his seemingly laid-back hobby of hiking did not always include flat trails and a leisurely stroll as most people assumed. He leapt from the ground to a pile of stones and using his momentum, he leapt again, grabbing the edge of the wall with his finger tips. He pulled himself up, straddled the wall and was ready to drop down the other side when he paused and looked back, breaking yet another of Mike's Rules of Engagement. When escaping, never look back until you are well away from danger, but look back he did.

That seminal moment was imprinted forever on his mind like a photograph. If he lived to be one hundred, he would be able to see it in minute detail just as clearly as the night he straddled that wall. He saw Hicks rising up on one elbow, his body seeming to glow in the light from the fire. He saw the flames reaching ever higher into the air, their frenzy whipped by the wind, Hicks showered by the sparks floating and darting like hundreds of faeries in the night. Charlie could smell the acrid aroma of the burning wood. He would never forget that smell. Cocidius, now free ran around the edge of the house and out of view. Hicks turned and looked at him. His eyes seemed to glow red, like some B movie demon. He screamed something, but the words were lost in the wind. Charlie took one last look then throwing both legs over the top of the wall; he dropped to the other side.

The desert was bathed in moon light as he ran. Charlie had no idea where he was or where he was headed, he only knew he was free and he intended to remain— free. Shadows moved at the edge of his sight. He heard a familiar bark not very far away. It touched his mind that free of his constraints, the dog he renamed Larry just might rip his throat out, but even that was better than burning. The desert seemed alive. He was aware his perception was affected by fever and the drugs still clouding his reality, but it didn't matter. He tripped, nearly falling, but he recovered his footing and he kept running pulling to a stop only when the solid land gave way to a sharp drop. He looked into an abyss so deep and dark, he couldn't see the bottom. He felt the loose earth start to give way underneath him and he took one step back. Charlie looked up at the sky. It was so fantastically beautiful, like millions of jewels sparkling on a deep blue velvet gown. Suddenly a meteor streaked across the sky, then another and another.

_"The stars are going away,"_ he thought, "_soon they'll take me with them and I'll be free."_ He stood eyes watching the sky, waiting for what, he didn't know. A song reached his ears, a baritone voice carried on the wind, growing closer as he sang:

_'You'll be working in the darkness,_

_Against your fellow man,_

_And you'll find you're called to come forth_

_So you'll scrub and you'll scrub,_

_But the trouble is, bud_

_The blood it won't wash off_

_No, it won't come off_

_You better run, little fox, you better run_

_You better run to the City of Refuge.'_

"Charlie," the despised voice was upon him. It sent bitter chills up his spine, "Charlie, all you have to do is take one more step then fall forward." The fetid breath was hot against his cheek. "Just stretch out your arms like this," Charlie felt hands lifting his aching arms, "and fall forward. Your mother and Ashley, beautiful, sweet Ashley are both waiting for you. Can you see them? Look hard enough and you'll see them. You are exhausted. I can see how very weary you are, even your bones hurt. Fall into their arms, Charlie, and sleep forever."

The Prentice Maggio Solution, it solves all problems. It had become almost a mantra once. He hadn't really thought about it in years, but now it seemed the only way out. Charlie swallowed hard. His lips trembled. He could see them in the shadows. His mother smiled at him and Ashley held out her arms. They were waiting. He took a small step. They were waiting all he had to do was fall forward and fly away into the darkness.

But the hushed night became suddenly, violently kinetic. A bright hellish light descended on them; sand and dirt whirled around them like a tempest. Creatures roared and screamed from above and all was madness. A beast burst from the dark, his head down, snarling and baring razor sharp teeth. The demon moved away. Charlie turned and saw him, his white hair blowing wildly about his face like Medusa's snakes.

"Until next time, my dear little fox," Hicks hissed with an exaggerated stage bow and fading into the maelstrom, "I'll give Azariah your respects." he shouted and seemed to dissolve into a cloud of carrion birds and was gone.

"Charlie!"

The voice came at him from a distance but Charlie wanted no more. He had had enough of everything to do with this life. He closed his eyes and took one step forward, then another. The loose ground began to crumble.

"Charlie, Charlie, Nooo!"

A hand reached for him. The frantic gray viper like eyes glinted in the moonlight.

"Oh God, please just let me go!" he pleaded in a desperate, pain riddled voice. "It is done." He whispered.

"I won't do that!" A hand was a fraction of an inch from grasping his.

"No, you're only a dream!" Charlie cried, as the world fell from beneath his feet.

TCB


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Twelve

_An Acceptable Percentage of Loss_

The frantic rush to the airport was the longest drive of Don Eppes' life, bar none. It seemed never ending. The always insane L.A. traffic was ten times worse than he had ever seen it— at least it appeared that way to the desperate agent. If he hadn't known better, Don would have sworn they were actually traveling backwards a few times and was the entire damned freeway system under construction? He now understood why someone might become so impossibly frustrated and infuriated with the road conditions, that they would opt to pull out a gun and start shooting at the brain dead cretins that cut them off or blocked their way despite the obvious blare of the siren and flashing lights from the SUV. Don swore more than once during that wild journey, leaning out the window, expletives flying and threatening to charge everyone within earshot with interfering in the duties of a federal officer. It was an empty threat, but it was a less extreme option than pulling out his Glock and taking out the idiot's tires!

As they approached the airport, the demented situation only intensified. It was doubly exacerbated by Donovan's demanding voice barking rapid fire directions in his ear, sending them to a part of the complex totally unfamiliar to the FBI agent. Don had never wanted to clock a man more! Soon the madness eased a little as the heavy traffic trickled down to almost zero. At Mike's instructions, they drove across a dark, all but deserted runway towards eight cars parked by an open hanger. He could see the silhouettes of several aircraft. People milled about and two men stood beside a town car parked apart from the rest and almost hidden in the shadows, watching the others. Don's trained eye recognized the car as being the same one that had picked David and him up at his apartment what now seemed like a century ago. They pulled up beside the car, screeched to a halt and all of them quickly piled from the SUV.

A tall, lean man in his mid-thirties, dressed in full camouflage, with a forty-five strapped to his waist left the Colonel's side and approached the team. He removed his cover and tucked it under his arm. His sandy blond hair was cut in a precise high and tight. His smile was just as exacting as his recently clipped hair and contained not one ounce of genuine warmth. Giving a formal nod to their group, he shouted so he could be heard above the near earsplitting whine of helicopter engines firing up as they were meticulously checked for take-off, "Gentleman, I'm 1st Lt. Paul Edmonson, aide to Colonel Harrington." He shook hands first with Don, and then with David and Colby, as brief introductions were made. "We're almost ready. The ground troops are on their way as per your request, Donovan. We have two Blackhawks good to go. Delaney sent the coordinates so as soon as the ground crew gives us the nod; we'll be on our way. The Colonel and I will be in Chopper One, you and your crew will take Chopper Two."

Mike frowned and looked over the Lieutenant's shoulder at the man standing straight as an arrow, his hands clasped behind his back. "He's going with us?" He sounded doubtful.

"Is that a problem, Gunnery Sergeant?" The aide's pale eyes turned ice blue.

"No sir, of course it's not a problem, Lieutenant. He usually doesn't accompany us on missions. Neither do you, for that matter." Donovan raised his eyebrows. "I just find it odd, that's all."

"Well, I guess there's a first time for everything," the aide smirked and looked past Donovan. "I believe we are set to go gentleman; until we reach the target area, fly safe." He nodded and ran back to the Colonel.

The team quickly followed Mike past the cars and ground crew, running onto the tarmac to a waiting black helicopter. An emblem consisting of a viper ready to strike, its fangs bared and dripping venom, entwined around six crossed lightning bolts covered its nose. The door slid open and a man wearing a helmet cheerfully greeted Donovan and nodded at the team. The marine climbed on board first with Don following. Colby was next, but he hesitated.

"Now I know you're not afraid to fly, Granger, get in!" David shouted above the din of the first Blackhawk, which was rising into the sky.

"Sinclair, I'm well acquainted with Blackhawks. We used to have a saying about these damned things. If something on your helicopter ain't broke now, just wait awhile. I KNOW how they work. When I left the military, I swore I'd never trust my ass to one of the goddamned pieces of shit again!" The young FBI agent yelled.

Don leaned out the door, "Granger, stop being such a big baby and get on board! We don't have time for this!"

Colby groaned and reluctantly crawled in with a laughing David right behind him. Donovan helped them find their places and handed each of them earphones to protect their ears from the noise. Then taking a seat by the pilot, he pulled a helmet over his closely sheared head and shouted, "We are clear for takeoff, so hang on and don't worry, my buddy Will here has only dropped one of these babies out of sky, isn't that right Will?"

"There was that other thing in Fallujah, Gunny," Will said as he expertly maneuvered the chopper into the crowded night sky.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about Fallujah. That one damned near got you court-martialed, didn't it?" Mike said laughing. "Okay, he's only dropped TWO of these things out of the sky and mostly everyone survived, right?" He looked at the pilot.

"I might have lost a couple of guys, Gunny, but they dissed my fine Darlene here so I didn't care much for 'em. They don't count that's my way of thinking. Shit, they made me fail my last psych evaluation, the bastards." The pilot answered. "I'm still a bit bothered by that shell fragment that hit my left arm. It's kind of stiff. I don't have peripheral vision and I can't see at night for shit, but besides that, I'm good."

"Since we're a private security organization, we can be a bit more lack than the Corp." Mike explained to the team. "We can use great pilots like my man Will here even with that eye thing and the arm thing, oh yeah, and the knee thing from a jump that went bad. The fact he's touched in the head just helps him fit in with the rest of us. The Corp grounded him two years ago, but we snatched him right up. Slightly damaged stock is a little cheaper and we do have a budget. But hell, just sit back and relax, Granger, Bob Marley said it best, don't worry about a thing. "

Suddenly a formally cocky David Sinclair was quiet and looking decidedly worried. Colby covered his eyes with one hand and lowered his head, muttering, "Fuck!" over and over again under his breath.

Mike Donovan and Will Jennet glanced at each other and grinned. Both men were in top condition and the pilot had never lost a chopper or a man in his fifteen years of flying. He was both a helicopter mechanic and one of the best pilots in the world. Harrington would recruit nothing less. Mike had trusted this man with his life many times and he chose him personally for this mission. The two ex-marines simply took a little sadistic pleasure in scaring 'virgins'. It was an unofficial initiation into their dangerous world and it broke the tension. Mike glanced back at Don. The senior agent had seen the looks that passed between the two experienced men. He shook his head and a small smile touched his lips as he looked at his friends practically quaking in their seats.

Don Eppes sat in contemplative silence for the rest of the trip. He knew this was it. For good or ill, the nightmare would soon be over. Tonight they would find Charlie alive or they would recover his body. Either way, his little brother was coming home. The idea that they would not find him at all, that Charlie would remain lost to him was impossible to accept. He closed his eyes and for the rest of the flight, he replayed the last three horrific days over in his mind. He thought of his team, of Mike Donovan of Tom Addison and everyone else who had tried so hard or offered their prayers to help him find his brother. No matter how the night ended, they would forever be in his heart. He thought of his father, so blissfully ignorant of this entire situation. If worse came to worse, would his dad forgive him for not bringing him home the minute Charlie was abducted. Don tried to put himself in his father's shoes and the answer was—no.

"Copy that Chopper One." Mike said into his mouthpiece, his voice jerking Don out of his reverie. "We are nearly at our objective so get ready." Mike shouted over the noise of the helicopter. "It's night and it'll be difficult to make out anything on the ground from up here even with the spotlights. We're going to come in low and…WAIT! What the hell is that?" Mike yelled, "Chopper One, do you see that glow to your left?" Everyone looked in the direction Mike indicated. "That's one hell of a fire! Head that way…Copy Chopper One." Mike looked back at the team. "Whether they meant to or not, someone lit up a welcome sign letting us know exactly where to go. It's about time something went right with this fucked up mess." Mike muttered checking his sidearm making sure it was ready.

All of their hearts were pounding as adrenaline surged through their veins. This was that brief interval they all knew so well, whether it was the FBI agents preparing to raid an armed felon's hideout or a professional soldier raiding a terrorist outpost, it was the same for both; those last few quiet moments before all hell breaks loose. Each one handled it in a different way, taking their own individual paths in setting their minds on what they were trained to do and letting the natural fear that never completely goes away do its job. At times like this, fear was your friend. It gave you your edge. If you ever lost it, you got careless and you got yourself or your buddy killed. All of them knew in the backs of their minds, that this could be the mission that, despite the training, the precautions and the bulletproof vests, a bullet could find its mark. This could be the last mission for one or more of them.

There was no sound now except for the occupants controlled breathing and the noise created by the Blackhawk its self. The chopper flew fast and low, the downwash of the blades kicking up dust and debris from the desert floor causing everything on the ground to all but disappear in a thick soup. For a second Mike thought he detected movement a klick to his right, but it went by too quickly for him to discern exactly what he saw. It could have been a pack of coyotes or nothing at all. He saw a high wall built of stones and a large house less than a half a klick ahead and coming up fast. Flames shot from a building behind it, illuminating the night with an eerie reddish orange glow. The chopper stopped its forward motion, hovered for a moment then landed. He shoved the door open and, crouching low, Mike hit the ground running, his gun at the ready. He did not look back, but he was sure the team was following suit. Except for Granger, they had no military experience whatsoever, but he hoped their FBI training would serve them well. In any case, he had no time to babysit 'civilians'.

The quiet, still desert was suddenly alive with organized chaos. Mike was aware of Don and his team right at his heels, weapons drawn as they skirted the wall, moving towards a locked gate. The marine shot the lock and kicked at the rusted metal bars. The door creaked as it swung open. His eyes scanned the area looking for anything that moved, for any shadow that did not belong, all the while reporting his status and listening to his crew through the earwigs they all wore. They rushed past the side of the house, ducking low and checking any windows from which an attack could come. They moved towards the flames as quickly as caution allowed. Don's heart sank in horror as he saw what remained of the scaffolding. Its purpose was obvious. This was a place of execution. He felt David squeeze his shoulder.

"There's no smell of burning flesh." Donovan said quietly to no one in particular. "Believe me; we'd know if it was here."

Don took a quick gulp of air and nodded. Then he saw the dark stains soaked into the dirt not fifteen feet from the burning scaffold. He knelt and gingerly touched it with his little finger. "Still sticky," he said looking up at Mike, but the marine was not there.

Mike Donovan barely saw the blood stains. His well trained eyes had latched on to something a few feet away. He saw the newly dug grave and the scrub and rocks had been disturbed. Firewood lay scattered about and just past that, a shovel lay in the dirt. Mike picked it up and examined the blood and hair on the jagged metal edge. The hair was long, straight and white, obviously not Charlie's. He smiled. _So the little guy got his knocks in after all,_ he thought. _Good for you, Professor, good_ _for_ _you!"_

He knelt and checked the ground. There had been a struggle here very recently, too recently in fact, for the wind to have erased the signs, or for the blood to have dried; a struggle that probably occurred within the last hour. His senses were alive! He saw the jumbled footprints of at least two men, one large and one considerably smaller. He stood, dropping the shovel as his eyes focused on a trail so faint only a well trained tracker could detect it, a trail that led him towards the high wall.

Donovan quickly followed. He let his gaze run slowly up the stones. There he saw the tiniest smear of blood someone had left at the top as they escaped. He remembered the impression of movement as the chopper flew low and Mike knew where he had to go! With one jump he was over the wall and dropping down the other side. He charged through the night as swift and agile as a great cat, ignoring any attempts to contact him through the earwig. He wasn't sure if Agent Eppes was still following or not. He didn't give a shit. When he was on the hunt, Mike was a single-minded creature. His only drive was the chase, his only desire, his quarry. If Eppes did not follow, it was not his responsibility.

The marine ran towards the horizon, that solid line where the night sky met the moonlit desert. Slowly a small distant figure came into view, a silhouette in the moonlight. He was standing, arms outstretched as if waiting for a blessing from the heavens. He had at long last found Charlie! Mike saw meteors streak across the sky and disappear. He ran faster when he saw Charlie stood poised at the edge of an abyss and he realized his dark intensions. He cursed whatever god might allow this to happen, for them to have fought so hard, to have come so far only to lose him when he was at arm's length.

"Charlie!" He shouted as the figure grew larger. "Charlie, NOOOOO!" And he was on him. Charlie had turned towards the voice shouting his name, but not seem to recognize him.

"Oh God please, just let me go!" It was the plea of a man too broken to go on. "It is done." He said softly, his words a final benediction.

"I won't do that!" Mike slowly reached for Charlie, not wanting to cause him to panic and fall.

"But you're only a dream!" Charlie had cried and yelled as the loose ground gave way under him.

Arms as strong as steel cables grabbed him just as the rocks and sand collapsed under his weight. Arms lifted him, and staggered backwards, pulling him away from the precipice, denying him his mother, denying him Ashley, denying him peace. He screamed and blindly thrashed with his fists and feet at the monster who held him. He fought like a cornered wild animal struggling to be free, pushing both of them towards the crumbling edge of the abyss. He would not be captured. He would not allow himself to be taken back to that nightmare for slaughter. If he had to die, he was not going alone. He would take this bastard with him. They would both find hell on this night.

"Charlie, stop!" Mike Donovan managed to adjust his grip on the panicked, smaller man, pinning his arms firmly to his side, he pulled him away from the sharp drop-off. "Stop fighting me! No one is going to hurt you anymore!"

But the mathematician was beyond listening. He was in a blind frenzy and possessed by pure rage. Mike had seen this before. A young, raw recruit seeing heavy action for the first time lost it under heavy fire, endangering himself and everyone around him. He had slugged the recruit bringing him around. That was the last thing the marine wanted to do here, but he had to get through to Charlie and fast. He had to make him stop fighting before he hurt the both of them.

"EPPES!" He held Charlie firmly by the upper arms, knowing he was hurting him and not caring. This was no time to be gentle. Both their lives were at stake. He got full in the professor's face and barked in his loudest no nonsense USMC gunnery sergeant voice, the same voice that had once made the men under his command 'jump to' without hesitation or question. "EPPES, YOU WILL CEASE THIS BULLSHIT RIGHT NOW!"

Charlie seemed stunned. He no longer fought the man holding him. He reached out, clutching Mike's jacket. "You're dead. I saw you—he killed you!" Charlie whispered, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He lowered his head in resignation. The mathematician shivered, shaking his head. The arms that held him fast were gentle, but uncompromising. He was too terrified to open his eyes and look once again into the face of evil.

"Look at me." It was a command, not a request. "Charlie, look at me!"

Slowly Charlie's eyes opened and locked on a face he thought he would never see again in this life time. "I thought he killed…" He muttered, gripping the marine's arms.

"Naw, he just inconvenienced me a little." Mike Donovan smiled, loosening his grip on Charlie just enough to talk into the microphone clipped to the neck of his tee shirt. "Eppes, I have your brother about two klicks west of your location. He's alive." He said. "Great, see you soon." He tightened his grip on Charlie and moved him farther from the edge of the ravine. "Your brother is already on his way." He said gently.

Mike closed his eyes for a second. He was staggered by knowledge that the professor was going to jump to his death. What horrendous things must have happened to him to drive him to even consider suicide? He looked into the battered face. He clinched his teeth. His promise held. He would track the bastard to ends of the earth and make him pay for this. He felt the smaller man trembling in his arms and heard him gasp when he touched his upper arm. "I'm sorry kid—I didn't mean to hurt you." He said.

"Charlie, you're freezing! Here," Mike removed his camouflage jacket and slipped it on his friend. He smiled as he rolled up the sleeves a couple of times. "This one is way too big for you. When we get back, I'll get you one in your size."

"Aren't you going to be cold now?" Charlie asked, concerned.

"Son, I've slept in…"

"…A snow bank with nothing but a chunk of ice for a pillow." Charlie completed.

"Still have that smart mouth, I see." He laughed and nodded towards the dog sitting a few feet away silently watching. "Who's your friend?"

"His name was Cocidius, but I call him Larry. He sort of looks like Larry." About that time the dog growled and let out a sharp, demanding, no nonsense bark. "But he sounds exactly like Don." Charlie sighed and looked at Mike. "I promised him we'd take him with us. We always keep our promises." Charlie said softly.

"And we never leave anyone behind." Mike hugged Charlie a little tighter. "Ahh, one question, Dr. Eppes, besides making promises to dogs, did you happen to have set that fire?" Mike looked towards the red glow and billowing smoke.

"Sometimes extreme circumstances call for extreme measures, right?" Charlie said cutting his eyes away from the marine.

Mike nodded. Indeed they did.

"But if I'm in trouble, I have no idea what fire you're talking about." Charlie quickly added.

"Hell, I don't see no stinking fire." Mike added.

"OOORAHH" Charlie said softly.

"OOORAHH," Mike responded, ruffling Charlie's unkempt hair. "Hey, here's someone I know you want to see." He nodded towards a familiar figure.

Don Eppes felt as if he were waking from a long and terrible nightmare. He stood a short distance from his brother almost afraid to move, almost afraid Charlie would crumble to dust if he touched him. He covered his mouth with a trembling hand and then slowly, tenderly he drew Charlie into his arms and held him, stroking his hair, feeling his own tears running down his cheeks and feeling Charlie's on his neck as he buried his face in his big brother's shoulder for a while, saying nothing, just wrapping his arms around Don's waist and holding on as tightly as he could.

"I'm afraid that I'm dreaming you again and that I'll wake up back…" His voice was shaking when he at last spoke.

Don gently lifted his brother's head and putting his hands on either side of his face, he looked into the dark, haunted eyes. "Charlie, it's okay. I'm here. This isn't a dream. You're safe now. Just lean on me and I'll take care of you." He touched the tears running down his brother's cheeks. "I love you, little brother. You know that, don't you? You know I love you." His voice broke with emotion.

Charlie looked up into the velvet sky as three meteors blazed their way to oblivion. "I guess I don't have to disappear." He whispered.

"What?" Don asked, confused.

"Nothing, it's just an old dream." Charlie sighed. "Don, I think I got blood on your jacket and I feel kind of weird."

Don felt his brother's forehead and frowned. He was burning up. "I don't give a shit about the damned jacket. It belongs to the Bureau anyway. Charlie, you have a fever, and you're hurt. We're going to get you to the hospital."

"I just need to go home. If I can take a couple of Aleve's and lie down on my own bed, I'll be fine. I don't want…Don, I don't feel so good." The rush of adrenaline and endorphins that had masked his physical pain and given him strength subsided. Weakness crashed down on his head like a giant wave. He had reached the end of the road and could go no farther, not even one step. He didn't even have the strength left to stand.

The night had begun to shimmer and his knees were buckling. He was gently lowered to the ground. Don's arms wrapped around him and cradled him against his body, as he gently whispered, "Hang on, buddy, it's going to be okay. I'm here. I'll take care of you."

"So cold, so tired and it hurts! God, it really hurts." Charlie muttered, and touched his brother's face. "Love you, Donnie." He felt Don's grip tighten and a sweet, long forgotten sense of comfort and safety filled him as his big brother rocked him back and forth. _'Now all I need is for him to read The Cat in the Hat.'_ He thought as he drifted into the dark.

oooooooooooooo

Charlie woke in a hospital bed to a cool hand on his forehead. He felt like he was on fire. He tried to take a deep breath, but it hurt too much. Breathing at all hurt. His entire body ached, even his hands. He opened his eyes and saw his brother smiling at him. Don was muttering something about his arm being infected and his needing surgery. He had six cracked ribs and his body was a mass of bruises and contusions. He tried to listen, but Don's voice kept echoing and was hard to understand. Charlie wanted to laugh, because Don kept morphing into that rabbit from Donnie Darko."You have funny ears, Don!" Charlie whispered and let the black take him again.

For a full day Charlie drifted between fever driven dreams, unconsciousness and delirium. He stood among shooting stars, ran through a cool meadow with Ashley at his side and a large fawn colored dog at his heels. He thought his mother was calling him, telling him he needed to wake up now and help his brother and he fought, he constantly fought a monster made of fire and blood. He would wake screaming to find his brother always there, always comforting him. Then he would let sleep take him. For the first time in forever, he was not afraid of sleep.

"Charlie, Charlie can you hear me?" The voice was gentle, but insistent. "Buddy, please wake up and talk to me."

He opened his eyes to find his older brother leaning over him. Don looked tired, but relieved but at least Don was Don. "I thought you turned into a really scary rabbit." Charlie said weakly.

"Damn, little brother, how about sharing some of those drugs they have you on!" Don laughed and squeezed Charlie's wrist. "I've been very worried about you. We all have."

Charlie nodded. "I don't remember how I got here. I just remember escaping and running. I was on a hill somewhere. I was so tired, Don. I just wanted to fly away and…" And he remembered what his intensions had been. Another second and Don would be planning a funeral.

Don's face was pale. "You were hurt and very sick. You passed out. Mike carried you to the helicopter. Do you remember that at all?"

Charlie felt himself blush at memory of the marine scooping him up like a child and carrying him! He had a vague memory of the copter ride, of resting his head on Don's shoulder. He thought Larry had been there because David had asked him if he was sure that the animal was really a dog, but he was so out of it, he could have been dreaming. "I'm not sure." He whispered.

"It doesn't matter. The doctors say it'll all come back in time. Right now you need rest." Don had brushed an errant curl out of his brother's eyes. "At any rate, I'm going to be here to look after you. You don't have to be afraid, Charlie." He squeezed his brother's hand then he smiled. "Hey, you have so damned many flowers they can't even fit them all in. I told them to give the over flow to people with no flowers and the stuffed toys to the kids ward. I kept the cards so you can write thank you notes. I hope that was okay."

Charlie nodded his head. "It's fine Don. It's what I would have done."

Don shook his head. "You know some pretty wild people, Charlie! I had no idea my little bro was so popular!" Don grinned. At least Charlie had the good grace to look a little sheepish. "Do you feel up to a little company? Everyone is down the hall and they all want to see you."

"Yeah, I'd really like that. How do you raise the back of this stupid bed? I hate being flat on my back." Charlie fumbled with the controls until Don took them from his bandaged hands and adjusted the bed himself until his brother was comfortable.

The team had invaded the room shortly after, each hugging him in turn. He thanked them all, knowing his words were inadequate, but he tried. Larry Fleinhardt stood back, waiting to be last. He looked a little nervous and bewildered. He hugged his former student and closest friend and Charlie reassured him over and over again that he was going to be fine. Soon friendly, familiar chatter filled the air. David regaled everyone with a vivid description of Colby and the Blackhawk, complete with a dead on impression of him covering his face with his hands and muttering 'Fuck' every few seconds.

"He's exaggerating!" The younger agent insisted, red to his ears.

"No, he's not." Don laughed. "I thought you were going to get airsick and you gave up your seat to Charlie and 'volunteered' to ride back in a car so fast that no one else had a chance to offer."

"Charlie, don't believe them, they're making the whole thing up." Granger laughed, "Besides if you people knew what I know about the damned things, you'd never set foot in one. And you, Agent Sinclair got pretty quiet yourself after Mike and Will put on their little show for us."

Not long after a nurse came in to tell them they had too many people in the room, they were making too much noise and they had to leave. Dr. Eppes needed rest. One by one they left, the girls giving Charlie a kiss on the cheek and telling him to hurry up and get well. He was needed. How could the FBI possibly go on without his little stories about how math helps to solve crimes?

It was after the last of the team left and the room was quiet that Don leaned over his brother. "Hey, buddy, I'm going to run home and get a shower and some fresh clothes before they hose me off in the parking lot. I promise I'll be back later. Donovan's going to look after you until then." Don had said, tucking the blanket in around his brother, obviously reluctant to leave him.

"Don, you look worn out. You need to get some sleep. I'll be fine. Get some rest and some food and come back tomorrow." Charlie said real concern in his voice.

"I'll be back later." Don repeated and patted his shoulder. He smiled at Mike, who had been leaning against the door jamb, "Keep an eye on him. Make sure he gets some rest." He said as he left.

"Prof. Eppes, you look like hell." Mike said as he plopped himself down on the edge of the bed. "Here, I brought you a present." He sat a large box on Charlie's lap. "I tried smuggling in a fifth of J.D. but that nurse that looks like Eddie Izzard found it. Bet she'll drink it herself later. She looks like a woman who can hold her booze. Wonder if she's attached?"

"Should I be afraid?" The mathematician asked as he took the top off the box. He looked at his friend.

"As promised, official camos in your size; even had your name put on the jacket just like us big soldiers. Here…" he took the utility style cover and put it on Charlie's head. "Hummm, I'm not sure about the cover and your hair. I have a great barber. He could take care of that."

"You pay someone for that?" Charlie said looking at Mike's sheared head and cringing, pretending to be amazed.

"Hey, he could give you a nice trim and make you look like a true Devil Dog."

"I don't think that's possible." Charlie smiled.

"Sure it is, a little weight training to bulk up those arms, a nice high and tight and you'd fit right in." Mike lifted the hat and ruffled the curls.

"It'll never happen and leave the hair alone. The ladies think it's cute." Charlie chuckled.

"Yeah, girls are partial to cute little yappy things with puppy dog eyes and curly hair." Mike laughed.

"Mike, I…" Charlie started to say.

"Shit, Eppes we don't need words, we're brothers, Charlie, Fer de Lance. We look after our own." Mike put the cover back in the box and sat the gift on the chair by the window.

"Charlie, Harrington, is he Azariah?" Mike asked quietly as he turned around and faced his friend.

"No, no he isn't, but there's something not right there." Charlie said.

"Understood." Mike sat in the chair next to the bed."I could advise you to get out, Dr. Eppes, get out before something worse happens but I don't suppose you'd do that."

Charlie said nothing.

"That's what I thought." Mike nodded and smiled slightly. "You are a very complicated man, my friend."

"And you still look like Randy Orton, my friend." Charlie said with a sly grin. "Mike, what about Larry? Did he make it? I did make a promise." He asked suddenly serious.

"I assume you're talking about the four footed Larry and not Fleinhardt. He's fine. He's with my buddy, Will. He knows how to handle dogs like that. I have a couple of more permanent solutions but we can discuss that later. Right now, your friend is in canine heaven. We should be so lucky."

Charlie nodded, relieved to know the creature was safe and being cared for. After the life he must have led with Hicks, he deserved to be happy.

"You know, Eppes, if you're going to stay in and do what I think you're going to do, you will need a partner. I happen to be in the market for a new one at the moment." Mike leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Really—what makes you think I need a partner? I've never had one before." Charlie crossed his arms, mirroring the marine.

Mike narrowed his gray eyes, "Because I'm your partner, Eppes and that is that. I have a gut feeling you are planning on getting in way over your adorable curly head and will need someone like me to rein you in."

"Fine, I guess I have a partner." he smiled."Do we get code names? I always wanted a code name."

"Of course we do, and we get decoder rings and invisible ink to write secret messages to each other."

"So, what's my code name? I think it should be something cool." Charlie laced his fingers and put his hands behind his head.

"How about Black Hawk, I mean you were rescued in a Blackhawk helicopter and you do have dark hair and… "

"And…?" Charlie asked with a sinister tone to his voice.

"Well, there is your nose…" Mike smiled. "It is sort of…"

"You know I have a knowledge of chemistry and access to things that can go boom if put together in the correct order. I also have the knowledge to make things go boom in a way that no one will ever suspect it was anything but an accident." Charlie said nonchalantly.

Mike laughed, but Charlie's expression never changed.

"You know, guarding you, Dr. Eppes was a very interesting experience. I think working with you is going to be, well, anything but dull."

"Hey, I have the perfect code names," Charlie cocked his head to one side. He did his best cartoon Russian accent. "How about Moose and Squirrel."

Mike laughed and rubbed his eyes. "Perfect!" he said shaking his head.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

"Colonel, I checked with the hospital. Eppes is to be released tomorrow morning. His brother and Donovan are picking him up. I believe Donovan plans to stay with him for a week or so." Lt. Paul Edmonson said as he entered his superior's office.

"As to be expected. Glad to hear the good Dr. Eppes is on the mend." The older man looked up from the papers on his desk. He picked up a file and handed it to his aide. "Have a seat and take a look at this. Tell me what you think. This is a little project I've been working on. It's still about six months away, but the wheels are in motion."

Edmonson read through the folder carefully. "You want Eppes for this? He's hardly trained for this kind of assignment."

"Exactly—that's why he's the one I want. I've already recruited a Dr. Steven Davis from Stanford. He and Charlie actually know each other I believe." Harrington placed his folded hands on his desk.

"What makes you think Eppes would go for something like this?" Edmonson asked. "You know, he's no longer that naïve, idealist nineteen year old boy you recruited."

"No, he isn't, but he still wants to do his part to save the world and now he knows just how rocky that road is." He leaned forward. "Seeds have been planted, Paul, seeds have been planted. We just need to give them time to bear fruit." He smiled. "The full impact of this has not hit Charlie yet, but it soon will. He'll soon realize all he's lost and all he'll never be able to get back. His nose has been rubbed in the reality of the things he's done. He was forced to take a good hard look at his life and I don't think he's going to be able to just pick up the pieces and carry on like nothing happened." The old man grinned. "Not even that precious family of his will be able to help him. He's gonna wish he hadn't survived." He leaned back.

"Colonel, Eppes and his brother are close, sir. I'm sure… "

"Divide and conquer, Lieutenant, divide and conquer."

"And Donovan?"

"Have you ever read the story of David and Bathsheba? David wanted her so badly he sent her husband, Uriah to the forefront of the battle and then pulled his troops back leaving the man to die. We send Donovan with Eppes on my little experiment. I doubt we could separate them anyway."

Edmonson sighed. "Any word on Hickman?" He asked.

"It's like he dropped off the face of the earth." Harrington shrugged. "Oh I'm sure he'll surface again. He'll lay low for a while, but a man like that, he never gives up until he either kills his prey or someone kills him."

Edmonson nodded. He stood and saluting his superior, he left the office. He closed the door behind him and for a moment he smiled. The hound had gone to ground and for now would remain safely out of sight. But some day, when the time was right, he'd return and the hunt would resume. He clasped his hands behind his back and humming _Red Right_ _Hand_ by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, the Lieutenant walked to his car.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Thirteen

_Every Thing Good Goes Away_

Coming home from the hospital proved to be far more difficult for Charlie than anyone had anticipated. He stood at the entry way of the dwelling he loved so much frozen in place, staring expressionlessly into the dim foyer. The hazy morning sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, reflecting off the dust particles dancing in the air. The house was quiet and so dreadfully still that he could hear his own rhythmic breathing and that of the two men at his side. He mustered every ounce of courage he had left and forced himself to step over the threshold of his own home.

He stood silently gazing around the room, his arms wrapped around his body. He felt cold to his very core. As promised, the Agency had completely repaired the damage. On the surface, it was as if nothing evil had ever happened there, but the repairs were only superficial. They could replace a shattered window pane or plaster over a hole in the drywall, but nothing could ever erase the memory of the horrendous and violent crime he had experienced within its walls. The ghost of that desecration had joined all the other phantoms that wondered its halls; it had become part of the house, never to be exorcized.

Mike Donovan laid his hand on Charlie's shoulder, feeling him jerk as if startled. "Take your time," he said gently, "Only do what you feel you can. If it gets to be too much, we'll stop."

The mathematician slowly made his way to the television, the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor echoing as he crossed the room. He picked up a plastic DVD case, _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_. The DVD its self was still in the player. Charlie wondered if he hit the play button, would it start from the scene he and Mike were watching, when the sanctity of his home had been violated, the scene where Sir Lancelot fought his way into the tower to rescue Prince Herbert from his prison. For reasons he couldn't fathom, that thought sent shivers down his spin.

Charlie smiled sadly as he thought of King Arthur, his absurd and noble band, the Black Knight, the Killer Rabbit, the Knights Who Say Ni, Tim and Dennis. Once upon a time, they had been good friends and companions to a boy who had few. He recalled how, when he was at Princeton, his mother would invite his advisor, Professor Lawrence Fleinhardt to join them for dinner. Later they would make popcorn and watch that movie. He must have seen it fifty times that first year away from home. No matter how lonely or homesick he became, it could always make him laugh. For days he would annoy his mother with lines from the film uttered in a thirteen year old California boy's idea of a British accent, _Help, help I'm being oppressed! _Or,_ There are some who call_ _me__—__ Tim _and his professor's favorite_, I'm not dead yet._

Charlie bit his lip, remembering his mother and how much she loved Monty Python. It was another thing they shared. It made him truly sad that he would never be able to watch the movie again without feeling dread. It was as if he had lost a longtime, beloved friend. Charlie dropped the case on to the table and turned his back. He walked nervously from room to room. It was unimaginably difficult, but he thought he was going to make it through without incident. And then he reached the door leading to the garage. He took a gulp of air, his body stiffened and he backed up.

"Buddy, you just got home from the hospital. I know you hurt and you're still feverish. You should go to bed and rest. We can do this later." Don's hands were on both his brother's shoulders, trying to steer him away. Charlie seemed not to hear. He appeared mesmerized by the dark stairwell. "Listen, if being here is too much, you can stay at my place. I can sleep on the couch. It's not a problem."

Charlie shook his head. "If I don't do this now, I may never be able to do it." He balled his fist and hit the light switch.

Slowly, taking it one step at a time, they descended the stairs together. Don's arm was around his injured brother's waist to keep him from falling and Mike was right behind them ready to help if his assistance was required. The harsh overhead light cast elongated, unnatural shadows on the wall. Charlie stopped at the point he had heard the muffled shot and felt his body guard fall against him. He turned and looked back at the steep wooden steps.

"He must have been about halfway down when he shot you." Charlie looked at Mike. "You dropped your gun. I heard it skid on the floor. I can still smell the gunpowder! Can you smell that?" He looked at the two men standing close by.

"I can only smell the garage, buddy." Don said softly.

Charlie frowned. "You fell against me. I tried to help you but… I pushed the door up…" Mike moved in front of them and opened the garage door. They stepped out into the yard to the exact spot where the wounded marine had collapsed. "I tried really hard to get you out of here, but you were too heavy for me." There was shame in his voice.

Mike squeezed his shoulder, tenderly saying."Kid, no one could have done any more than you did."

"He could have." Charlie looked pointedly at his brother, and then he looked away. "I thought you were dead, I swear I thought you were dead so I left you. I'm sorry, Mike." he whispered. He turned and gazed back the way they had come. "Frank came out of the garage. I thought he was going to help until I saw the gun and I knew he was the one. He had betrayed us all. He aimed the gun at me. I thought I was going to die right here by the pond but…" His voice broke. "Hicks stepped out of the dark. He took a knife and cut Frank's throat. I've never seen anyone die like that except in the movies and this was nothing like they portray it! There was just so much blood and it sort of sprayed like—like a fountain. Frank made this sound; I don't think I'll ever forget that sound or his eyes. I saw life leave his eyes!" He grasped his hair with his trembling hand.

"Charlie, you've been through enough for today! You need rest. Let me help you to your room." Don had taken his brother's hand.

"No, I need to do this!" Charlie insisted. "I ran this way…" he led the two men towards the street and around the corner of the hedge.

"I saw the Agency car parked in front of the Stein's. I ran towards it, but when I got closer, I saw what he had done. Blood covered the inside of the windows like lace and…" Charlie shuddered with the memory. "I guess I should have yelled for help but I was afraid he'd hurt someone else, so I ran."

Charlie led them through it all, every step of the way. He took them to the abandoned house where Hicks had at last caught up with him. He told them how he had tried to hide, even taking the battery out of the phone so it could not ring and give him away, but it hadn't mattered. Hicks had found him anyway.

"He kept singing this Nick Cave song, _The City of Refuge_, and he called me his little fox. He said he was the hound and no matter how far I ran or where I tried to hide, that the hound would always find me."

He told them everything he could remember up to the point when the madman had cut his arm to acquire his blood and drugged him. That was as far as he could go. He was in agony and he felt sick from the pain. The rest would have to wait. He found himself slumping against his older brother, feeling tired and drained and a little pissed that, as usual, Don was correct; he had pushed himself too far for the first day and he was paying for it in spades.

Charlie felt mortified to be so weak, but his two attentive companions assured him that his embarrassment was unnecessary. He was injured and sick and they were going to take care of him for as long as he needed them, no arguments. When they arrived back at the Craftsman, Don dropped the gentle, concerned, brother voice and started using his firmest, no room for any bullshit, FBI voice. He ordered Charlie to go straight to bed. The mathematician was in no condition to quarrel with the man when he was in full Fed mode so he didn't even try. He was resigned to the fact that for a while, he would be under Don Eppes' benevolent, totalitarian rule, giving an almost Orwellian meaning to the words, big brother.

Charlie had hoped walking through the events of that night would prove cathartic and banish some of the fear from his mind. Perhaps he had tried too soon because all he had managed to do was aggravate his condition and wear himself out. He felt confused and his legs just didn't want to cooperate. Mike offered to carry him up the steps, but the professor's face turned crimson at the very idea. Don wrapped his arms around his wounded little bother and carefully helped him up the stairs and to his bedroom. Charlie had drawn the line at letting anyone, Don included, help him to the bathroom or to undress— that he could take care of himself. It was bad enough that his big brother insisted on waiting outside the bathroom door in case he needed help, the very modest man certainly didn't want an audience at his most intimate moments.

Charlie took care of his personal needs and washed his hands. He caught his reflection in the mirror and cringed. He barely recognized the face staring back at him. He looked like warmed over crap. He sighed and slipped on a pair of sweat pants and a worn Doctor Who tee shirt. Finally, with his brother's help, he climbed into bed. The crisp, cool, freshly laundered sheets were slightly scented from fabric softener and had never felt so good. Charlie realized just how bone tired he really was. Don brought extra pillows and gently tucked them under his brother to prop him up until he was as comfortable as a man with his injuries could be. He covered Charlie with warm, soft blankets and pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down.

While the FBI agent was getting his brother situated in bed, Mike Donovan went to the kitchen for a glass of cool water. He brought that and the bottle of pain medication they had picked up at the pharmacy on the way home from the hospital. He handed them to Don, who thanked him before turning his attention back to his patient. He looked at the bottle, scowled and for the tenth time expressed his opinion whether anyone else wanted to hear it again or not.

"Charlie, why your doctor gave you OxyContin, I don't know, but I'm not happy about it. I see the end results of abusing this stuff every day. This is a really powerful, highly addictive drug and can be dangerous. I know you're in a lot of pain, but there must have been something else you can take." He looked into dark, pain filled eyes, but Charlie said nothing. With a disgusted shake of his head, he opened the bottle and handed one pill and the glass to his brother. "I will be in charge of your medication until Dad gets home and that is final. You go to sleep. You are due for an antibiotic in…" he glanced at his watch, "four hours." He watched as Charlie swallowed the pill, washing it down with the water.

The mathematician handed the glass back to his 'keeper' and lay back against the pillows. He nodded and agreed, smiling at the thought of the words of the Borg and how they suited his older brother so well. When Don decides he is in charge of a situation you might as well just go along because face it, _resistance is futile._ Besides, he was in far too much pain and feeling too all over lousy to remind his bossy FBI agent brother, that he was a fully _tenured_ college professor and more than capable of following the directions on a medicine bottle. Don closed the curtains so only a small amount of sunlight could enter. He laid a cool hand on his brother's brow, and pushed back the dark curls hanging in his face.

"You rest, I'll be right back." He said.

"Stay with him, I'm going to put on a pot of coffee." He looked at Donovan, who had been standing by the door watching the two siblings.

"Yes sir!" The marine said with raised eyebrows and a bemused look on his face. He moved so Don could get by.

"Damn, talk about mother hens, your asshole brother is the fucking queen of the coop!" Mike said and smoothed the blankets covering a drowsy Charlie, "Little partner, you go to sleep. Both of us will be right here." He smiled and patted Charlie's hand.

Charlie didn't remember hands shaking him awake and giving him the antibiotic, but a few hours after that, he woke on his own in misery and Don very reluctantly gave him another pain pill. At least he spared them the OxyContin is dangerous speech, for which his patient was very grateful. His second day home was not much different than the first. He hurt too much to fight his male nursemaids and the OxyContin put him in a dense fog. He stayed in bed and slept, waking only long enough for Don to spoon soup down his throat, help him to the bathroom, (he had given up on modesty and the drugs made him dizzy), change the bandages on his wounds or give him medication. It wasn't until the third day that he began to feel a little better. The last of his fever broke, he didn't absolutely need his pain medication that morning and he was becoming restless doing nothing but laying in bed, watching television. Once, while channel surfing and cursing the fact that he paid a fortune to have hundreds of channels and there was nothing worth watching on any of them, he hit upon an exercise show and stopped.

"Hey, Shimmy is on. Dad loves this program." He said.

Both Don and Mike looked dumbfounded. "Your father takes belly dancing?" Mike asked.

"No, he just watches. Hey, Dad's old, but he's not dead." Charlie said cutting his eyes at the two other men and enjoying his brother's discomfort at their father's guilty little pleasure.

Later that day, with a lot of persuading, Don finally agreed to let him put on his robe and sit in the solarium to get some sun and enjoy a book. He suggested they all have lunch there and Mike agreed to make roast beef sandwiches. Charlie didn't have much appetite, but he ate a few bites and drank a cup of coffee. It was shortly after that the inevitable official calls began. They all knew it was coming but they hoped the powers that be would show a little mercy and give them a week, but no such luck was forth coming.

Mike Donovan was the first to fall. He was ordered in to Harrington's office for debriefing. He took his own sweet time getting ready. He was in no great hurry and sat with Charlie for a few minutes before he left. Don was in the kitchen and for once he and his new partner could speak candidly.

"He'll want to debrief you soon, Eppes. I've convinced him you're still too fragile to be questioned right now, but I can only put him off for so long." Mike had leaned close to Charlie and speaking in a low voice. "I should be back by morning at the latest. We can cross check our stories then. I want to make sure we are both on the same page."

"Hey, you be careful." Charlie said softly. "That man is dangerous and not to be trusted."

Mike nodded. "I think we're okay for now. Besides, he needs us both for whatever evil plan of world domination he's cooking up. You know he's aware we're working together, don't you?"

"Oh yeah, Bullwinkle, I'm fully aware of that fact." Charlie said. "Just be careful!"

"You to, Rock," Mike laughed as he stood up. "See you as soon as Fearless Leader releases me and don't give your brother too much grief. I know he's irritating as hell, but he means well." He said as he left.

After Mike's car pulled out of the driveway, Don brought both himself and Charlie another cup of coffee. He sat across from his brother and asked the question he had been putting off for three days, "Charlie, when does Dad get home?"

"Oh shit—Dad! His plane arrives at noon on Sunday. Wow, that's the day after tomorrow!" Charlie nearly choked on his coffee. "Don, do we have to tell him? Can't we just not say anything and hope he doesn't notice?"

Don smiled, "For one thing, little brother, take a look in the mirror, you're beaten all to hell. I know you feel better, but you'll still need for us to take care of you for a while. For another, Charlie, have you forgotten about Mrs. Stein? Don't you remember how we couldn't do anything when we were kids without her telling the folks?"

"God, I forgot about her and Mr. Douglas across the street, he's just as bad. Remember that time when you were sixteen and Dad took Mom to San Francisco for their anniversary?" Charlie laughed.

"Yeah, they were only going to be gone for two days so they left me watching you. Man, I was pissed! Babysitting was not how I wanted to spend my weekend." Don grinned.

"As I recall you had a bunch of your pals over for a friendly little get together. They got into the liquor cabinet and things got way out of hand." Charlie shook his head.

"Whoa buddy, I didn't ASK them over, they just showed up when they found out our parents were gone for the weekend. Anyway, I had no idea Mom had given her spies the number of their hotel. They drove all the way back just to kick my ass. It didn't help that you, their little angel, snuck off behind the garage and finished off a bottle of champagne by yourself and it couldn't be the cheap California stuff, no, you had to gulp down the Perrier Jouet."

"Hey I had discriminating tastes even then, no domestic grapes for this boy. It's first class all the way." Charlie laughed. "I remember I broke one of Dad's golfing trophies popping the cork. We tried to hide it in the garage until we could glue it together."

"Yeah and you falling down drunk and puking in a ditch was the last straw." Don shook his head. "I think that is the only time Dad nearly took a belt to my ass. Thanks to Mom, he grounded me for a month instead, but they made me pick up every piece of trash and every cigarette butt on the whole street, whether my friends left it or not. I didn't get to go to any parties for nearly six months. All and all, I think I'd rather have had the belt."

Both men laughed at the memory, "Anyway, little bother, I can promise you, Dad will not even be out of the car before he gets an earful." Don sighed. "Look, as far as the neighbors and the cops are concerned, there was a home invasion, which is not a total lie. Your friend was shot trying to protect you and you were injured trying to defend the house. We'll leave it at that. The less said the better."

"And he will kill us both for not calling him right away, AND he will wonder why I have a friend who packs a Sig, AND Donnie, neither of us have ever been able to put anything over on our old man in our lives."

Don shrugged, "Charlie, I know he will see through us in a heartbeat but there isn't much else we can do. Do you want to tell him the truth?"

"We can't. I'm surprised Harrington hasn't tried to have you and the team's memory erased." Charlie said under his breath.

Don chuckled but his laughter faded when Charlie didn't join in and gave him one of those dark 'Charlie' looks. Don cleared his throat. "Okay, I'll pick Dad up at the airport on Sunday. I'll tell him the only story we have and we go from there, agreed?"

"Agreed." Charlie still sounded doubtful.

And then Don's cell started ringing. He checked the number, cursed under his breath, and leaving the room, he answered with a curt. "I told you I have to take care of Charlie! - No, there is no one else here right now who can do it!"

Charlie could tell his brother had moved farther down the hall. He could hear him arguing but could tell he was getting nowhere fast. Finally in frustration, Don uttered a few choice words concerning the legitimacy of the Assistant Directors birth; he hung up and returned to the solarium, eyes ablaze with anger and defeat.

"Look, Charlie, David called. The Assistant Director wants to see me. I tried to put him off until Mike gets back, but he's being a bastard. He wants me in his office within the hour. I know you are really not in any shape to go out, and I hate to have to ask you to, but with Donovan gone, I don't have a choice. I thought we could take care of things at the office and maybe pickup some Italian for dinner. Sound good?" Don glanced at his watch.

Charlie looked at his hands for a second. He sensed very serious trouble coming for his brother and the team and it was his fault! He felt guilt touch his heart and his quick, astute mind began considering ways to make things right, but he had to do it his way and that did not include a trip to FBI headquarters. "Don, I really don't feel up to the drive all the way downtown. I just want to sit here and read or maybe I'll go lie down for a little while. I'm really tired."

The FBI agent shook his head. "I'm not going to leave you alone, not with that asshole still on the loose!"

"Don, Hicks is not going to try anything. He's gone; believe me, I know— he's gone. Besides, there are agents watching the house even if you don't see them. If I need anything, I can call one of them. I'm fine, I don't need a nurse. Go and take care of things at work. Italian sounds great for dinner. Maybe we can watch a movie or something later."

Don did not want to leave his brother alone, but David had made it clear that the presence of the entire team including Larry Fleinhardt, was required and his attendance was mandatory. If he didn't show up, agents would be dispatched to escort him to headquarters, in cuffs if necessary. Besides, if everyone else was being called on the carpet, it was his place as their leader to be there. Don knew his job and everyone else's could very well be on the line. In fact, there could be legal problems looming. They had certainly broken enough regulations and laws. He wondered if he should contact his lawyer. It struck him that perhaps Charlie's input could help their situation and if he was in the FBI building surrounded by armed agents, his brother would at least be safe, if not comfortable.

"Look, little brother, these people care a lot about you. They put their lives and their careers on the line to help you. They could be in serious trouble. Why don't you come with me and speak up for them now?"

"I really am not up to it, Don. I want to, but I can't." Charlie had not been able to look in his brothers eyes. "Tell everyone I'm sorry. I just want to take a pain pill and go to bed."

It was déjà vu and Don turned to ice. He could not believe what he was hearing. After all everyone had risked, his precious baby brother could not even be bothered to leave the house. This was the Charlie he remembered from years past, the one who ran equations while their mother died, the one he preferred not to know at all.

"Fine, suit yourself. I'll be back as soon as I can. I may have to call a cab if the Bureau fires me. The damned SUV isn't mine you know. And if you HAVE to take one of those pills, get in bed first. They make you dizzy. If you fall, it could be serious and I won't be here to save your selfish ass." Don said a bit more abruptly than he intended. He turned on his heels and left, feeling angry that his brother could not push his own feelings aside to help those who had done so much for him and angry with the doctor who apparently felt Charlie needed a highly addictive, powerful drug and angry at himself for letting his kid brother push his buttons.

Don was no sooner out the front door that his baby brother moved his 'selfish ass' from his comfortable nest in the solarium. It hurt to move but he ran to the front of the house and watched through the window as Don's SUV pulled out of the driveway. He made his way to his room and pulled out his laptop. Of course he was going to help his friends, but he couldn't do it by sitting in an office looking oh so pathetic, trying to plead their case for them. This situation necessitated his pulling out the big guns and reminding a few people of favors owed and secrets kept.

Don had no idea the lengths Charlie would go or the depths to which he could sink if the occasion required or if those he loved were threatened. He was not above using the influential people in his extensive network, to achieve his goals, nor was a little blackmail out of the realm of possibility. In fact, he had found a little blackmail could be very useful at times.

Charlie checked his contact list and grabbing his Agency mobile instead of his personal, he began to make calls to very powerful people in very high places. By the time he was through, he had a satisfied cat in the creamery smile on his face. As he closed his laptop he noticed one of his journals sitting close to the edge of the desk. He knew full well his brother had probably read at least the latest entries and he felt his cheeks burn a little in embarrassment. He hoped Don hadn't dug too deep because there were some things he didn't want known until after his death. He opened the journal and an envelope fell out. He gingerly picked it up off the floor and immediately felt like a spear had been run through his heart. He held it, gazing at the beautiful script that was so uniquely hers. A slight scent of violets and jasmine reached his nose, her perfume. He saw her face, heard her voice and felt her hand touch his. Not even a full week had passed since they had sat in that restaurant, talking, since she had touched his hand and kissed his lips, not even a full week since she had lain bloody and cold on the pavement.

Suddenly it hit him like a fist to his gut— he had survived the battle, but he had lost in the end after all. Everything he loved was gone, he was alone. He felt his life dissolve like a snowball in the rain and grief as black as the grave and as heavy and cold as stone crushed him. He switched off the light on his desk and clutching the envelope, he headed downstairs to the kitchen, stopping to pick up the bottle of OxyContin as he went.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

As Agent Don Eppes drove back to Pasadena, he still could not wrap his mind around how the afternoon had turned out. He had fully expected to be fired and even arrested, but instead after he, the team and Larry spent a madding hour waiting outside the Assistant Director's office while his assistant forwarded call after call, they were in for a pleasant surprise.

_"I'm so sorry Agents," the harried woman who kept the office on track apologized for the umpteenth time, "But everyone in D.C. seems to need to speak with him and every call seems to be urgent. This started about an hour ago and has been nonstop ever since." She looked towards the door and then whispered. "In the last hour, I've spoken with people whose names I've only seen on documents and it's not their assistants calling, it's the higher ups themselves. Someone must have lit a fire somewhere!" The phone rang again. She rolled her eyes and hit a flashing button on her phone. "Yes sir, they are all here. Yes sir, right away." She nodded in their direction. They all stood and marched single file into their superior's office and sat down, each one looking more forlorn than the next. _

_"Agent Eppes," the Assistant Director said as he looked up from a stack of papers. "How is your brother doing?"_

_"Charlie's going to be all right. It's going to take time, but…" _

_"Glad to hear it. Dr. Eppes is an asset to the FBI. Please tell him, as soon as he is able of course, my wife would like for him to come for dinner. Its been a while and she and the girls would like to see him again." _

_Don gritted his teeth and cursed the status quo. He was about to lose his job and his genius brother gets a dinner invitation from his boss. Life really does suck. "I'll make sure and tell him. Sir, I don't mean to be rude, but my brother is not well and should not be alone for long." Don muttered._

_"Yes, of course, I'll be brief. I asked all of you here to let you know there will be a commendation added to each of your files for your actions during this recent situation. I am very pleased with the performance of your team, Agent Eppes. I wish I could do more, but do to budgetary concerns at this time I am unable to offer monetary compensation, but I hope to be able to rectify that soon." He stood and handed them each a copy of the commendation they would receive._

_The team and Larry looked stunned. They had all expected to get their walking papers and possibly face criminal charges. Instead they were being rewarded and their careers were not only safe but had advanced a notch or two. They all stood, feeling confused and shook the Assistant Director's hand, thanking him. They filed out one at a time, with Don last in line. _

_"Agent Eppes," Don turned and faced his superior, "that brother of yours is quite a piece of work isn't he?" _

_"Yes sir, I guess he is." Don said and closed the door behind him. He looked at the copy of the commendation. "Charlie, I could kiss you!" He whispered and smiled._

oooooooooooooooo

Driving home, Don had ample time to speculate on just how his brother had pulled the whole thing off. He knew Charlie would never tell him and that he would never accept his thanks. The least he could do was to bring his little brother his favorite dinner from Manero's and pick up that crazy Johnny Depp movie he had wanted to see. For such an intellectual geek, the mathematician had a really dark and bizarre side the conservative FBI agent was just beginning to discover. That secret side of Charlie was a little frightening in an oddly fascinating kind of way.

"Charlie!" Don shouted as he pushed open the front door, balancing the food and the movie in one arm as he closed the door with the other and locked it. "I don't know what you did or how you did it, but you are the crown prince of all kid brothers. We…" But the house was dark and silent. "Charlie!" He called, sitting the bags on the table, his apprehension growing by the second as his brother's name echoed back at him in his own voice. When he saw the slit of light glowing from under the swinging door, he instantly went on alert. He knew for a fact that he had turned off the kitchen lights when he left for headquarters earlier. His hand instinctively went for the Glock nine at his side, terrified at the possibility that the murderous son of a bitch had returned in his absence and finished what he had started. _Dear God_, he thought_, please don't let my last words to my brother be words of anger. _It was a silent prayer to a deity he was just beginning to know.

Don charged into the kitchen, his heart in his throat. The only light on was the one over the stove. For a second he thought the room was empty. He turned to leave and run upstairs, but out of the side of his eyes, he saw Charlie sitting cross legged on the floor in the corner. He was filled with a combination of relief and trepidation as he knelt beside his brother.

"Buddy, what are you doing down here? I told you not to try those stairs alone, that you're not ready. Did you fall? Do we need to get you back to the hospital?" He asked, touching his brother's cheek.

"I broke one of Mom's cups." Charlie said softly, the pieces of jagged glass resting in his bandaged hands. "I was going to make a cup of tea, but I dropped the cup."

"It isn't Wedgewood or anything. I don't think Dad will care, so don't worry about it."

"Mom and I used to talk in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep. She'd make a pot of Earl Grey tea." he smiled a little, "She used to laugh because I wouldn't let her use the microwave, I insisted she use the kettle and heat the water on the stove. I told her I didn't like my tea 'off the boil'. She said I was too fussy, like Aunt Irene. She always made her tea in this cup. Sometimes, after she—after she left us, I'd come down here and make myself a pot. I'd fix a cup for her and add two sugars, and a slice of lemon like she always took it. Now she's gone and even the damned cup is gone." Charlie closed his eyes leaning his head back against the cabinet, "Oh God, Don, everything is gone. He took it all away from me."

He sounded so completely lost, Don did not know what to say or do. "Charlie," Don sat on the floor in front of his brother, covering his hands with his own.

"He would drug me with Earl Grey. I loved that tea, now I nearly gag at the smell. This house, my home, Don, this was my sanctuary from the world. No matter how bad the day was or how ugly things seemed, the second I stepped through that door, it was like a huge burden was lifted from my shoulders. I was always safe here. I could breathe. Now every shadow is his face, every creak of the floor, his footsteps. All my gentle phantoms are gone and only the monster remains. Even the koi pond is gone, Don, I thought he was going to kill me at its side. And my garden, a man died horribly there. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to sit in my garden without seeing Hicks slit…without hearing that gurgle as that man died." He banged his head against the cabinet in anger. "Don, I'm not sure I can live here anymore. Everything smells of blood, gunpowder and death. He's taken my home from me! And he's taken me away, the person I thought I was. I thought I was a good man, you know. No saint but a decent person, but I'm not. I'm so bad, I'm beyond contempt. I…"

"Hey, you're talking about someone I love." Don put his arm around his brother's shoulders. "My kid brother is the kindest, most big hearted, gentle person I have ever known."

"That's because you don't really know me! You don't know the terrible things I've done, the damage I've caused. How am I going to live with this Don, how?"

"Buddy, you have to give it time. Right now you're still in shock, you're hurt and …" Then he saw the bottle of pills on the counter along with an empty bottle of wine. "Charlie, tell me you did not take those damned pills with alcohol!" He was suddenly afraid.

"Only one pill Don. I swear. I only took one." He sighed. "Not very smart I guess because I can't get up. I feel so numb and so far past exhausted that I can't think."

"Not smart at all, genius, in fact it was really stupid." Don reached over and took his brother's pulse and checked his eyes. "Come on. I'm going to help you to bed."

He took the broken cup from Charlie's hand and set it aside. Slipping his arms around the smaller man, he lifted him as gently as he could. He knew his brother was far from well. He was fragile and Don didn't want to cause him any more pain.

Charlie was slumped against his older brother, his words slurred by narcotic painkillers and alcohol. "Don, he killed Ashley! I was there, I saw her…I saw what that bomb did to her."

"I know, buddy. I know and I'm so sorry." Don gently helped his brother up the stairs and laid him on his bed. He helped Charlie out of his robe and tucked the covers around him.

"I have this letter…" He held a crumpled piece of paper in his hand."This is the last letter she sent me. We used to write each other and… this is the last…" His voice broke as he looked at his older brother. "I'd like for you to read it, Don. If you want to I mean."

"Of course, Charlie, if you're sure you want me to, but I don't want to encroach on something this personal." Don took the crumpled letter from his brother's hand.

"I want you to read it. Maybe you can know her a little from the letter. I wish you'd known her." Charlie touched his brother's hand. "I told her about you. I was so proud of my big brother, even when we weren't speaking. I told her how you caught the bad guys. You've always been the hero, Don. I used to tell her how you were the hero of the family."

Don carefully opened the letter and read the words of a woman he would never meet, but who would be forever the love of his brother's life.

_My dear, sweet Scott,_

_It's three AM and I can't sleep. I am listening to our beloved Chopin and reading the letter I received from you today. Aren't we archaic, writing letters in ink, in our own hand and sending them through the mail? I half way expect to find the envelope sealed with wax! It has always been like that between the two of us, hasn't it? We belong in another century, a far less impersonal one. We should have lived in Lord Byron's day! Your lovely letters contain what an e-mail never could. Your letters have little bits of your soul in each word, tiny pieces of your being. You have touched them with your gentle hands. I can almost catch the scent of your skin as I read them. I have kept every letter you sent, my dear Scott; they keep me company until I can be with you._

_When you called me to tell me your engagement was off, my heart ached for you, but I have to confess a wicked part of me rejoiced, not in your heartbreak, but in the fact that the fates were proving me correct. You and I have always belonged together. I think it was predestined. We were both guided by some unseen hand towards each other. Some little angel told me to break a date with my boy friend of three years in order to wait in the pouring rain to get into a club I hated. I was ready to leave when, the sound of laughter floated in on the wind. I turned and saw this smallish guy dressed totally in black with dark curls hanging in his face. He was the cutest boy I had ever seen. He had a Goth girl on each arm and was laughing with this tall skinny guy with long black hair. He looked at me and smiled. It was like lightening striking. I was smitten. I fell in love with him and I love him still. Life has taken us in a dozen different directions since that night. We both have loved others, but in the end, all roads have led us back to each other. _

_Dear one, you wrote to me of years gone by and all we thought we would be, all the funny, silly, childish dreams we spoke of after a few too many glasses of wine. You wrote that even though you are very successful, well known and respected, there is something missing, something magical you lost on the road to where you are now. You sounded so lonely, my love, so sad, it breaks my heart. I want to hop on the next plane so I can wrap you in a cashmere blanket and hold you until this old world stops spinning and time its self ends. I want to hold you forever._

_Since that rainy night, in front of that Goth club, you have been my inspiration. People are always asking me about the boy in so many of my paintings. I know that someday someone will figure it out, but for now I like keeping you my Dark Mysterious Angel._

_Scott, I purchased a place overlooking the ocean. I cannot wait to be there alone with you! We can drink red wine, listen to Tony and Edith and dance in front of the fireplace all night long just like when we were kids. Except now we will not have to escape to the country to be alone and we do not need a fake ID to buy the wine and face it, dear, we can now buy a much better vintage, hey, now we know what vintage means!_

_I know that these days we are both ridiculously successful grownups, but I must admit, that one of my fondest memories is of dancing with you in the snow to 'La vie en rose' drinking cheap wine and pretending we were going to run away to Paris and live the bohemian life. We were going to be the Scott and Zelda of our time. Of course I was not going to go insane and you were not going to drink yourself to death. I miss that part of us, dear heart, do you? Maybe that is the magic you say you have lost. Maybe the real magic is in the dreaming. We can still dream, sweetheart, funny, silly, childish dreams._

_You have my heart. You always will,_

_Your Zelda_

"Charlie, this is a beautiful letter. She must have loved you very deeply." Don said realizing how much his brother must be suffering at her loss.

"I loved her so much. I wanted you and Dad to love her too, but she's gone now, Don. Everything is gone. He took it all away and left me with nothing. I'm so empty now and I'm so alone. I'll always be alone, big brother. I'll be alone forever."

Don gently folded the letter and sat it on the nightstand. He laid his hand on his brother's forehead. "Charlie, you are not alone! I don't know how, but I swear I'll help you. Hold on to me and I'll help you. It's going to be okay. I promise you that nothing you have ever done or ever could do would make me turn my back on you or stop loving you."

Charlie only smiled at him, a sad, lost smile and closed his eyes. His even breathing told Don he was asleep. He sat at his brother's bedside all night holding his hand, watching over him, making sure he was alright. He fell asleep towards dawn and it was Mike Donovan's hand on his shoulder that woke him early the next the morning.

"Hey, how's our patient?" Mike asked concern for both brothers in his voice.

"He had a very rough night." Don said.

Mike frowned. "My friend, you look like you had a very rough night as well. Why don't you go get some rest? I'll sit with Charlie. We're used to each other's company by now."

Don looked doubtful, but he felt as if he was going to collapse if he didn't get some real sleep. "If he wakes up and needs me…"

"I'll come and get you. Now go, get some sleep." Mike moved so Don could get up. He saw the pain in the agent's eyes as he looked at his sleeping brother then headed for his own bedroom. _'What the hell happened last night, partner?' _He thought and then he saw the letter. He didn't read it, but he saw the name at the bottom. So it had hit Charlie at last. He had known it was coming and he was glad Don had been there when it did. Now the really hard part would come. Now he had to learn to live with it.

TCB


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Fourteen

_Like A War in the Distance_

It was a sunny Saturday morning. Charlie Eppes sat cross legged leaning back against the tree closest to the lake and farthest from the crowds, tapping away at the keyboard of his laptop. His well-worn The North Face backpack and a slightly tattered hardback book sat on the ground beside him. Jack White and The Dead Weather blasted from the earbuds of his Ipod. He paused for a moment to read the passage he had just added to the three pages he had finished earlier. He smiled in approval and his fingers resumed their nimble trip across the keys skillfully putting the words in his head into the computer in Arial font, size twelve and double spaced. He knew that with the dinner party later that day, he was going to fall far short of his self imposed goal of ten good pages a day, but he intended to finish as many as he could before Mike Donovan forced him to come home and help set up, after all, it was HIS party in honor of his friends and to celebrate his big brother's recent engagement.

He sighed, taking a cautious deep breath. His ribs and back still hurt, but not nearly as much as they had six weeks earlier. Now, instead of two pills a day, he only occasionally required an Oxy. He hated them and only took one if he absolutely had to. He felt they made him stupid. After taking the things, he was too dizzy to walk and in such a fog, he couldn't put a decent sentence together. But he had to admit he secretly enjoyed the occasional Hunter S. Thompson moment involving hallucinations of Don and that damned Donnie Darko rabbit.

It had been funny at first, but as time went by, Don's Big Brother act was really starting to gall him. He still insisted on monitoring his usage, even going so far as to count the number of pills left in the bottle every time he came over. Charlie had tried to reassure the FBI agent that he had no intention of abusing or getting addicted to the damned things, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"No one ever does, Charlie," Don kept saying. "No one ever does, but by the time you realize you're addicted, it's too late so please stop as soon as possible."

And he was stopping. He only had a few left and he held on to them for the really bad days. Most of the time, he could get by with Aleve. Charlie supposed this was a good sign that his body was healing, slowly to be sure, but physically, he was on the mend. It was his mental state that concerned his family and friends. Emotionally, he just wasn't himself.

Charlie softly sang a couple of lines along with Jack. It was a beautiful fall day, a little brisk with a soft, pleasant breeze. The sun reflected off the water like multicolored jewels. Occasionally someone would bike or jog by, but for the most part he was alone. It felt really good to be alone. Solitude was a commodity he found hard to come by in recent weeks. His father's constant hovering was driving him crazy and Don was not much better. Mike, thank God, was not much of a hoverer, but if he did get too overly attentive, at least he could be stopped with a firm "STOP IT!" His family and friends were another story. They walked on eggshells around him, treating him as if he were a delicate flower that would wilt if you touched it. He knew they were concerned about him and he was very touched by that, but they needed to back off and give him a little space. They were suffocating him!

He took a moment to check the handwritten notes in his spiral notebook and for the umpteenth time, cursed his own bad penmanship, and then continued his typing. He was on a roll and really getting into Jack's pounding drumbeat on _'Hang you From the_ _Heavens'_. He started to join in, but instead of the extraordinary Mr. White's words he found himself screeching,_ "SON_ _OF A BITCH! DAMN IT, DON,"_ when a hand touched his shoulder. About a dozen backslashes marred his work as his startled fingers jerked on the keyboard. He yanked the buds from his ears and tossed the Ipod next to the book.

"Sorry, I guess I should have made more noise. I didn't mean to scare you." Don grinned. Moving the backpack, he settled down beside his brother. He picked up the book and looked at the title. "_Paradise Lost_" He read. "Milton? Geez, buddy could you try and read something a little heavier?" He said sarcastically.

"_The mind is its own place, and in its self can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."_ Charlie quoted.

"If you say so," Don grinned.

"You always did prefer Ian Fleming, didn't you?" Charlie said.

"Hey, don't knock it. Goldfinger is a classic!" He gently slapped his brother on the back of his shoulder.

"How the hell did you find me?" Charlie asked a little perturbed at Don's not exactly welcomed presence.

"You're just not that difficult to run down. Even when you were a kid, if you weren't in your room or the garage, we'd search the park." Don sat the book down on the ground and adjusted his sunglasses. "It's a nice day." He said, looking out over the lake.

"I do not believe Dad sent you to check on me." Charlie said softly. "I've only been gone for an hour."

"More like two." Don said, glancing at his watch.

"You didn't have to trudge all the way down here, you know. You could have called me on my cell." Charlie said.

Don shrugged. "I needed to get out of the house. Dad and Mike are having a heated debate about diplomacy verses military action. I wasn't about to hop into that fray."

"I guess Dad won't hurt Mike too badly." Charlie chuckled. After Alan Eppes had learned that the marine had taken a bullet protecting his youngest son, Mike had been all but legally adopted by their father. In fact, Charlie was fairly certain that he was now his dad's second favorite, right after Don. At dinner a week after their father's return from Canada, Charlie had watched his Dad pile another slice of brisket on the soldier's already overloaded plate. He had stage whispered in his new partner's ear, _"You're an Eppes now, may God have mercy on your soul. The 'when are you going to give me grandchildren' lecture will commence shortly."_

"Charlie, Dad says you're not sleeping well or eating." Don said after a couple of minutes of silence. He had noticed it as well. His brother was getting too thin and his normally bright eyes were tired and appeared bruised due to the ever present dark circles. "Its been over six weeks and you haven't gone back to work or even tried to replace your car. He's worried about you. We all are."

"If I ate and slept as much as Dad wants, I'd weigh three hundred pounds." Charlie sighed. "I've taken an extended sabbatical from the university. Damn it, other people do it all the time! I mean, look at Larry! Can't I take time off without it turning into a crisis?" He closed his laptop.

Don looked at his finger nails. "Larry might not be the best example to throw up to Dad." He said gingerly.

"Point well taken," The mathematician cringed. Their father loved the man like family, but he didn't want his son to become him. That fear had caused the elder Eppes man a lot of sleepless nights.

Charlie looked out over the lake and watched as a family of ducks swam close by, foraging for food. There was so much he'd like to tell his brother about what it had been like, growing up the family genius. From the time he had been very small, his demeanor, his uncanny math skills and his way of relating to his elders had made him appear so much more mature than other boys his same age. He had often been treated like he was an adult and he had been expected to react like an adult. No one really saw that behind those ageless, intelligent eyes, he was just a lonely child, incredibly brilliant and astute, but still, just a child like any other child.

Charlie knew that despite his protests to the contrary, Don hadn't liked him very much for most of their lives. They had so many problems, they seemed insurmountable at times. It was easier to simply lead separate lives and not see or speak to each other for years. But in the last five, and since their mother's passing, he and his big brother had made great strides in their relationship. They worked together well, and though they sometimes clashed, Charlie felt like Don was really beginning to want him in his life; at least he hoped he did. He was petrified that would change if he ever saw the real Charlie; the one Hicks's had forced him to face. He couldn't bear the thought that one day he could look into his brother's eyes and once again see disgust and hate, even if he did deserve it. He was petrified that he would lose his brother like he had lost everything else. It was very hard for him to open up about why he hadn't resumed his old life, but he knew he had to. He owed the man that much.

He closed his eyes and in a barely audible halting voice, Charlie began. "Don, I've been in the fast lane since I was four years old! I've spent my life scrambling to meet everyone's expectations. I live in fear that I will somehow disappoint our parents, my teachers, you—and myself. I've always had to be the best and the brightest in my class. Remember all those damn tutors and special classes—all year round? I never had a summer vacation like all the other kids. I've always been running to grab that next degree, publish that next paper, all the while keeping one step ahead of my peers because God forbid, someone should get ahead of me."

He took a breath then continued. "I have to hurry, hurry, hurry and achieve whatever I'm expected to achieve before I 'waste my genius' as everyone keeps saying, because I only have a limited amount of time to accomplish something important." He threw up his hands. "I don't know what I want anymore, Don! What if it's not what I've worked towards all my life? What if I don't accomplish what everyone else thinks I should, then I'd have let all of you down and everything you did for me was for nothing. I'll be just another Ivey League over educated failure, scribbling away on a chalkboard when I'm eighty pretending I'm still relevant. "He laid a hand on his brother's wrist."I'm so damned tired! I just need to take some time to get a few things straight in my head. I'm struggling and I need time, understand?"

"Yeah, buddy, I do. I understand." Don slipped his arm around his brother's shoulder. "You do what you have to do. I'm here for you, if you need me. Hell, you could become the world's first professional mathematician snowboarder for all I care, I'd still love ya." Don smiled.

He and their parents had all been traditional skiers, but Charlie had fallen in love with snowboarding. Dad had joked that his youngest son had joined the enemy camp and was now a traitor. Don could still see his brother barreling down that steep slope, barely in control, losing it then asspassing everyone until he reached the bottom. Unlike so many other things in life, on a snowboard, Charlie seemed to have no fear. His antics scared the parents when he was a child, but it was only when he got older and went boarding backcountry all alone, that they worried.

Charlie chuckled. "I think I'm a little too old to go pro. The last time I did a 5-0 grind I nearly busted my ass. I must have rag dolled, or face planted a dozen times that weekend. Every bone in my body hurt. When I was twenty, those things never bothered me, I could just get up and do it again but now, damn!"

"And when did you attempt all of this?" Don asked, remembering how good his brother had been the last time they went skiing. And remembering affectionately how Charlie, ever the math professor, had spent an hour before he hit the slopes scribbling equations in his notebook and explaining to a less than enthusiastic brother about how centrifugal force, rotational inertia and work relates to tricks on a snowboard or a skateboard for that matter.

"Last winter," Charlie said, blushing bright red. "A friend of mine has a school. He trains guys for competition. He lets me use his pipes and jumps and gives me pointers in exchange for me tutoring his son in algebra."

Don looked stunned for a second. "You told Dad and me you sprained your wrist and ankle and busted up your face when you slipped in the rain running for a lecture at some symposium!" Don punched his brother in the arm. "We waited hand and foot on you for a week. We might have thought twice about that if we'd known you hurt yourself trying to be frigging Shaun White, ya crazy little bastard!" Both brothers laughed until they had tears in their eyes.

Charlie wiped his eyes and gasped, "Shit Don, don't make me laugh like that. It still hurts."

"Sorry." Don hugged his brother tighter for a second and ruffled his hair. "When are you going to replace your car? Dad keeps asking me, as if I can read your mind."

"The car is another problem." He waved his hand in exasperation.

Don looked at Charlie, waiting for him to explain.

"Well, Agent Eppes, it seems the damned thing is not covered if it's destroyed due to an act of terrorism, which is what _your_ FBI report and Homeland Defense are calling it. I've tried arguing but, it looks like I'm S.O.L. on this one."

Don cringed. "Damn, that sucks! What are you going to do?" He asked.

"I'll have to do something eventually. I can't keep bumming rides. Of course everyone has their opinions." Charlie shook his head. "David and Colby suggested something like a red Corvette convertible. I'm not the Corvette type. I'm neither a twenty-five year old kid trying to look hot nor am I a fifty year old 'dude' trying to be twenty-five again. Dad thinks I should be practical and go for something reliable, easy to drive, with good gas mileage. That's not a bad idea, but it's so Charlie and I'm sick of being Charlie." He looked down for a second then continued. "Larry says I should think more esoteric and outside the box like a Tesla Roadster and make the Agency pick up the tab since one of their idiots blew it up. I don't think they'll buy me a six figure sports car. Mike agrees that I should make the Agency pay for the car and he really has no opinion as to what I should get except…"

"Except what?" Don asked.

"He thinks I should replace the Prius with something that is not such a, as he put it— girl's car." Charlie sighed.

Don had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing.

"Anyway, I don't have to decide right this minute. It's not like I go a lot of places. Besides walking to the park and the doctor's, I haven't left the house in weeks." he shrugged. "Mike is leaving in a couple of days on assignment. He's letting me drive his Range Rover while he's gone. The damned thing is huge with four wheel drive. He actually had it set up for safari. I feel like I should be driving across the Serengeti with an antelope strapped across the hood. To be honest, I'm sort of apathetic about the entire thing. I should just give you and Dad a check and let you buy whatever you think I should have and forget it. I don't really care. If it was up to me, I'd hide in my room until the world ends in 2012. Of course that's not really going to happen so I'm screwed there too."

Don looked at Charlie with concern. Physically, he was recovering from his ordeal. That was not the problem. On the surface, his brother appeared the same as always, a little too quiet perhaps, but still the same old mathematician they all knew and loved. But those who knew him well could see he wasn't the same. How could he be, after all he had suffered? Something was building up behind those dark eyes. Don was afraid he was going to lose the Charlie he had always known forever—he was afraid he already had.

"So, what have you been working on so intently for weeks now?" Don asked awkwardly trying to shake his fears.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, confused.

He nodded at the laptop. "You spend hours and hours every day with your nose in that thing. Are you working on some fantastic algorithm for some mysterious group of super spies somewhere?"

Charlie smiled, "Sorry to disappoint you, big bro, but it's nothing so interesting. It's a personal project, something I've been thinking about for a while. I'm taking advantage of my time off to put my notes together and see if it's even worth continuing."

"Fine, so don't tell me. I don't really want to know, anyway. I was just making conversation." Don pretended to take umbrage at his brother's refusal to answer.

Charlie didn't fall for that very transparent ploy. He decided it was time to bring up something that had been on his mind recently. "Don, I know Larry has done a tremendous job covering for me while I've been out, but I'm better now and if you and the team need me for anything at all I'm available, if you still want me, that is."

"I need to think about this. I mean Fleinhardt is excellent, couldn't ask for better, but you did have the job first. I just want to be fair to both of you." Don frowned.

Charlie narrowed his eyes, "I'm not sure I fared so well there." He said a little surprised. "You do what's best for the team Don, that's what matters. If Larry is a better fit then…"

Don laughed. "We've missed you, you dumbass! God, Charlie, sometimes you are so easy! You are unique in your field, a mathematician apart from the herd. Of course we want you back; I just don't want to push you. Besides, the girls in the front office ask about you every damned day." He did a mincing female voice. "Agent Eppes, when is your brother coming back? He's so sweet- he's so adorable- he's so cute- he's so smart." He shook his head, "Ugh, makes me want to puke. Hell, Granger thinks you should play the wounded puppy act to the hilt. You could get all kinds of action."

"It's the hair." Charlie grinned, "Ladies like the hair."

"Riiiight." Don sounded doubtful. "Before your ego gets any bigger, if that's possible, a couple of them also find Larry adorable."

"Girls also like smart guys." Charlie nodded.

Don chuckled, "Of course they do. They go for brains above money and good looks every time." He shook his head. He glanced at his watch. "Damn, we got so involved I nearly forgot. Mike told me to remind you that the dinner you guys are cooking takes time to prepare, and you need to get home. So the rumor is true. The two of you are really cooking Cajun for ten people."

"From appetizers to dessert," Charlie said. "And, as Mike well knows, we did a lot of the prep yesterday. If we hadn't, we'd never be able to pull it off. Today we just have to put it all together and cook."

"Well, at least I have the numbers for poison control and the fire department on speed dial and the Chinese place delivers late, just in case." Don rolled his eyes.

"Please remember this little soiree is in your and Robin's honor to celebrate your engagement and it's a thank you to your team for saving my ass so please try to show a little gratitude." Charlie said sarcastically.

"Hey, speaking of your BFF, he has made us an offer I think we should accept." Don said smiling at how easy it was to get under his brother's skin.

"And what's that?"

Don took a deep breath. It was now time to tackle the real purpose for tracking his brother down in the park. He wasn't sure how Charlie would react to his proposal, so he decided to just charge ahead. "Look, I have some vacation time saved up. I've checked with the Assistant Director and I'm cleared for two weeks off starting Monday. Mike has offered us the use of his house in Washington. It's in the mountains, on a lake, kind of secluded, but there is a town nearby with a bar if we want. I guess it's too chilly to swim but, but we can still go hiking, boating, sit in front of the fireplace and drink wine, anything you like. I thought we could leave Tuesday and drive up. You have the Range Rover so we don't have to worry about transportation. We can stop and see the sights on the way. You know, we can really make an adventure out of it. What do you say?"

Charlie looked a little taken-a-back. "You'd want to spend your vacation, the first one you've taken in years— alone— with me? What about Robin? She might like two weeks alone with you in the mountains. You did just get engaged."

"I've already spoken with her and she's fine with it and Dad's fine with it. Look, we've never really spent a lot of time together just hanging out. We've never really spent a lot of time together, just the two of us, at all. I think it would be good for both of us. Charlie, I really want to take the next two weeks getting to know my little brother. How about it, buddy? It'll be fun; hey you can see that dog you picked up. He's close by there, right? "

Charlie nodded. It would be nice to see Larry. He had considered keeping the animal himself. He had run the notion by Mike's friend, Will but the pilot had not thought it was a good idea. He had told him that the Presa Canario was a great dog, but not a dog for just anyone. They demanded an owner that would be in charge of them at all times, an owner who knew how to handle aggressive, strong breeds. In the hands of the casual dog owner or amateur they could be dangerous. Mike's neighbor in Washington raised Presa's and loved them. He would have space to run and be treated very well and never abused so Charlie had agreed to let the dog go as long as he received the occasional picture and visiting rights. Mike had personally driven the dog to Washington when he went up to check on his house. He had brought back pictures of Larry on the porch of a large house with a man who looked a lot like an older version of Charlie and a brindle Presa named Lydia. He looked very happy.

"Yeah, Don. It would be nice to get away for a while. Let's do it." he said quietly, totally shocked that Don would want to spend so much time with him outside of work or dinner with Dad. Then he looked over his brother's shoulder to see the tall man walking briskly down the jogging path, his stature military straight, his eyes covered by a pair of aviator glasses. There was a folder tucked under his arm. Charlie felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

_' And so it begins_.' He thought and stood as quickly as he could. "Good morning, Lieutenant." He said to the man who had stopped in front of the two brothers.

The man nodded, "Dr. Eppes, Agent Eppes." Then he turned his attention to Charlie alone. "Dr. Eppes, if I may have a moment, sir."

"Wait here, I'll be right back." He said under his breath, his hand on his brother's shoulder.

Don stood as soon as Charlie and the man walked away, his eyes locked on the pair. If this stranger made even the slightest suspicious gesture towards his brother, Don was fully prepared to take him out. But that proved unnecessary. The two exchanged a few words then the man handed Charlie the folder and with a brisk nod, walked back the way he came. Charlie opened the folder. He stood alone for a few minutes reading, and then he closed it with a snap. He took a deep breath and rejoined his brother.

"That man practically saluted you." Don said with a smile.

"What?" Charlie seemed distracted."Oh yeah, well, I out rank him," he said softly.

"Okay, buddy, if you insist." Don said amusement in his voice. "What was that all about, anyway?"

Charlie looked past his brother towards the lake, his expression unreadable."_Cry havoc and let slip the dogs_ _of war_," he whispered more to himself than to his brother. He leaned over, gathered his belongings and shoved everything in his backpack. He nimbly headed off any questions Don might have by punching him playfully in the shoulder, "Hey, we'd better get back before Mike kills me." He turned to leave.

"Charlie, we'll get him." Don said, grabbing his brother's wrist. "Everyone from the FBI to the CIA is looking. We'll get the bastard."

Charlie looked down for a second, and then he turned towards his brother. "No," he said. "No, Don, you won't." He began walking away. Don hesitated for a moment then sprinted to catch up. They walked home together.

ooooooooooooooooo

The dinner party was a noisy, happy crazy affair that started early, well before the sun went down. Charlie and Mike had ordered tables, ice, dishes, a couple of kegs, several cases of very good wine, both red and white, and they sat up a full bar. Mike had hired a bartender since neither of them would have the time for the job. Don noticed the man seemed well acquainted with Donovan and he, like the marine himself, looked like a centerfold for Soldier of Fortune magazine. They had arranged for a car service to pick up all their guests and take them home afterwards so they could just relax and have fun without worrying about drinking and driving. They spent a couple of hours setting up the tables, lighting candles, setting up the music, greeting guests and doing everything required for a major social affair.

They loaded one table with cheeses, fruits, thinly sliced beef, cracked crab, iced shrimp and crisp salad. They took turns mingling, leaving the kitchen only long enough to make sure everyone had drinks, food and was having a good time. They refused any offer of help from Alan or anyone else. It was _their_ party. Don, his arm around Robin grabbed Charlie long enough to thank him for the dinner and tell him the smells coming from the kitchen told him he probably wouldn't need to call for Chinese or pizza after all. Charlie only smiled, shaking his head.

The next time he swung through, Charlie came baring a platter of Crawfish Boulettes with Remoulade Dressing for dipping. He put it on the table. It was soon joined by Smoked Mushroom and Tasso pasta, Sweet Potato and Apple Salad and eggplant fritters. After making sure everything was perfect the hosts disappeared for nearly two hours. The next time the kitchen door swung open it was Mike announcing dinner was ready.

"You mean that wasn't dinner?" Colby asked as he found his place at the table across from David.

When all their guests were settled, Charlie and Mike began serving, starting with Gumbo and homemade French bread still warm from the oven. Both his father and brother were amazed at how he moved from person to person placing bowls of hot, spicy soup in front of each of his guests as if he had waited tables in five star restaurants all his life. The Charlie they knew would have spilled steaming liquid on someone's head.

"Guys, please let us help." Alan said as Charlie sat a bowl of the spicy soup in front of him.

"This party is a gift from us. Just relax and enjoy it." Charlie said, looking around the table at his family and friends, catching Mike's eye and nodding.

The two hosts chatted with their guests while keeping a watchful eye on the bowls and the wine glasses. Soon they were on the move again, removing the empty dishes, pouring wine and returning with plates of Pasta Macque Choux with pan braised chicken breast. On the side they served fresh cooked green beans and more warm crusty bread. Now the pace of the meal slowed a little and they had a chance to relax and talk and enjoy a glass of wine themselves.

Don Eppes watched as his brother chatted with Larry and their father. He was flabbergasted at the spread he and his merc pal had put on and he was aware that Charlie had eaten little of what he cooked. He took a bite or two, but mostly he just moved the food around on his plate, keeping the conversation so lively and fast moving that no one noticed—no one that is, except his big brother. Don's ever watchful eyes narrowed. He would have to have a talk with his little brother later and let him know the Kate Moss look didn't suit him. They were passing around yet another bottle of wine when their father stood and held up his glass.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say, who the hell are you and where is Charlie?" Everyone laughed, clapping their hands. "No, seriously, my son can grill a steak but when did he learn to cook like this?"

Charlie held up his hands, "Whoa, I only assisted; Mike here did most of the cooking. Your applause belongs to him!" he held up glass in a salute to his friend.

"I didn't know the marines trained chefs." Colby grinned.

"They don't. My foster mother owned a Cajun restaurant. I worked in the kitchen and learned to cook from her chefs" He explained. "And don't let the little guy tell you he had no part in cooking this, I worked his ass off, believe me. He can now make one hell of a dark roux. And for the most part, he did the Gumbo. The hardest part was training him to serve without dumping food on people's heads. You owe several of my crew apologies by the way." Mike laughed.

"Well, whoever cooked, we are all very grateful for this splendid meal." Alan continued. "And I am grateful and feel so blessed to still have my boy here, even if none of you are telling me the truth about what happened to him. I just want all of you to know how important you are to me. And I want to say congratulations to Don and Robin on their engagement, it's about damned time. Now they just need to give me grandchildren!"

Robin blushed and Don groaned as laughter filled the room and Charlie lifted his glass to the happy pair. "Better you than me." he mouthed.

Alan Eppes watched the simple exchange between his two sons and he thanked the God of his fathers that after many years apart, they were so very close now. Their mother would be ecstatic. He remembered the day Don had picked him up at the airport. He had known instantly that something was very wrong. He could tell by the look on his older boy's face. Don had taken him to a quiet spot in the crowded concourse and they sat down.

"Dad, I need to talk to you about Charlie." Don had begun and his heart had instantly skipped a beat. "There was an incident at the house." And he had proceeded to tell him there had been a violent home invasion. Charlie had a friend staying with him and he had tried to fight the invaders and protect Charlie. He had been shot for his efforts. Charlie had fought to protect his home and had been very badly beaten, but that was not the worst —there was a girl. And Don had told him about Ashley DeVoe. She had died in a terrorist attack in downtown L.A. Charlie had been very much in love with her and had been with her when she died. He had sat stunned at the news and he had wanted to kill Don for not bringing him home immediately. A fathers place is with his child when they are in trouble, even if that child is grown man. How could Don leave him playing golf while Charlie needed him? What was he thinking?

The drive to Pasadena had seemed to take forever. All Alan had wanted to do was take care of his son. When they arrived home, he ran to Charlie's room and took him in his arms and wept. He held his son like he once had when he was a small boy, stroking his curls and kissing his forehead. He let him know just how much his father cherished him and that he was there for him and always would be. He told Charlie that though he had never known Ashley he grieved with him and would do all he could to help him get through it. He had gone to Mike Donovan and hugged this total stranger, welcoming him into his family and thanking him over and over for being there for Charlie, for saving his life.

It did not take long for him to realize that he was not being told the complete truth. In fact, he was not being told the truth at all. The first time he had helped Charlie to change the bandages on his hands, he had seen that his wounds were not from fighting. They were cigarette burns. His son had been tortured. He had gone to Don for answers only to be told to let it go, just be grateful he still had two living sons. Don and Charlie had both assured him that his injuries had nothing to do with his involvement with the FBI. For his own sake and Charlie's, he needed to let this one go and accept their story as fact. He could tell demanding the truth would get him no where so he had reluctantly capitulated. He stopped questioning the lies he was being fed and he focused his energy on caring for his beloved son. Now, weeks later with his home full of the people he loved most, Alan Eppes thought about what a truly fortunate man he was.

"Eppes, I think it's time for dessert." Mike said pushing his chair back. Charlie joined him and they started gathering the dishes. They went into the kitchen and soon came back with coffee for everyone and dishes of vanilla ice cream. Mike pushed out a chafing dish, poured Grand Marnier over the contents and set it ablaze. Their guests applauded and Don reminded Charlie that he had the fire department number ready to go. Mike added cherries and more liquid and stirred, then he put the flames out with the lid and he and Charlie spooned the sweet concoction over the ice cream.

After dessert, Charlie and Mike began clearing the table.

"Alright, now I know you'll let us help you." Alan said standing.

"Forget it old man." Mike laughed."We've got it. All of you just enjoy the music or put on a movie. Just enjoy. "

The two partners began cleaning up after their very successful party. It took a while, but by the time Alan and Don decided they were going to help whether the pair liked it or not and invaded the kitchen, the job was done. Charlie and Mike were folding the dish towels and the place shone like it had never been used at all. There was not even a water spot in the sink. Only the smell of wonderful food lingered in the air.

"Dad, I'm scared. I think Charlie has been replaced by a pod person." Don said looking around at the spotless, shinning kitchen. "Either that, or my brother has become a Stepford Wife."

The party had wound down. The car service had ferried their sated, yawning and contented guests to their respective homes, Don and Robin had retired to his old room and Alan Eppes, his. Charlie and Mike made their rounds, picking up any trash they might have missed before and making sure the rented tables, dishes and kegs were ready for pickup then, all chores completed, they grabbed a couple of glasses and a bottle of merlot. They headed out to the patio. They arranged the chairs so they could sit, put their feet up and relax. They sat looking up at the stars and enjoying the quiet.

"Mike thanks for doing the party with me. We could have just hired a caterer but I think everyone appreciated this more." Charlie took a sip of his wine and crossed his ankles.

"Yeah, caterers are great, but there's nothing like home cooking." The older man stretched and yawned. "Granger and Sinclair offered to back us if we ever want to start a business, for a sizable cut of the profits, of course."

Charlie just looked at marine and they both softly laughed. "T his is my favorite time of night, long after everyone else has gone to bed when the air is still and quiet. I'll finish whatever I'm working on, grab a cup of tea, come out here and just watch the night go by." he looked up at the sky. "Do you realize the sun will be up in a couple of hours?"

"Mine is what the old folks used to call the gloaming, you know that time after the sun goes down and before night." Mike said.

"The gloaming? The old folks?" Charlie grinned and shook his head. "When did we get to Oklahoma, 1952! Hey, I nearly fell over when you called Dad 'old man'."

Mike grinned and poured them both a last glass of wine. "Another dead soldier," he said with a sad sigh as he sat the empty bottle down. "So, I hear Fearless Leader sent you an edict from on high."

"Damn that Don! It was more of a proposal than an edict. I have some time to decide." Charlie swirled the wine around in his glass.

"Yeah, I know, he sent me the same offer." Mike looked at his partner. "You're not considering doing this are you?"

Charlie shrugged. "It seems a little out there for a math professor."

"A little out there!" Mike shook his head. "I think the old buzzard's gone senile."

"Maybe I should, you know, stop hiding behind my education and a chalkboard." Charlie said.

"You know, Eppes, since I went into the Marines, I've been a loner and I liked it that way. I never really had a family outside of the Corp and Fer de Lance. To be honest I never felt the need. I don't know why I let you get under my skin, but I did. Now here I am saddled with a freaking math genius for a partner, who by the way, I just know is going to be no end of trouble, and by proxy his merry band of G-man friends including one who will kick my ass if he feels I've endangered his baby brother in any way. And to top it off, I now have a 'dad' who thinks I need to find a nice girl, settle down and pop out a couple of kids. I'm not used to having all this—kith and kin around so bear with me if I seem a little perplexed by it all. But, my brother, there is one thing I am not confused about. I care about you Professor and I want you to now heed The Gospel According to GySgt Donovan." He paused for a moment.

"Kid, I've been doing this for a lot of years and I want you to be aware of what's waiting for you down the road if you decide to continue. Charlie, this life changes people, oh you don't think it will at first, but it always does— no exceptions. One day, you'll come home from whatever hellhole they sent you to and nothing will be the same. Your friends will still be your friends, but not like before. There will be this distance there that you will never be able to bridge. Then one day, you'll realize they've not called you in a while and probably never think of you at all. You're just a faded photograph in a box, someone who breezes through town on his way to someplace else."

"This family you love so much will still care for you, but their lives will have gone in a completely different direction than yours and you will have little or nothing in common. You'll be like casual acquaintances passing each other in the hall with not much else to say other than hello. This house, it will still provide a roof over your head, when you're around that is, but one day you'll walk in from some faraway place and that feeling of home will be gone. It will even smell different because there will be nothing of you here anymore. Your life will elsewhere in places none of these good people can even imagine. Your home will be where ever you are on any given day and your family will be the men standing at your side. You'll become a much colder, harder man because if you don't, this life will chew you up and spit you out. I'm not telling you these things because I don't want you as a partner, I'm telling you these things because, damn it you're my brother and I want you to fully understand what you're risking besides your ass." He laid his hand on Charlie's shoulder. "You, Dr. Eppes have a kind, gentle soul. I would hate to see that change."

Charlie closed his eyes for a moment and then he opened them and looked at his friend. "Mike, I haven't accepted Harrington's offer, I'm only considering it. Except for hiking and snowboarding I'm not the most outdoorsy person in the world. Dad and Don love camping but I've never seen the need to go back to the nineteenth century to have fun. Give me a day on the slopes or on the trails, but at night I expect a lodge with modern plumbing, a fireplace, room service and a Jacuzzi. Only bears should shit in the woods, Mike, only bears and other furry creatures."

Mike laughed, "But you're staying in, Charlie. I can sense it. You haven't even begun and already I see the glow of distant campfires in your eyes. So I guess I'll have to be there to keep your ass out of trouble, "He lifted his glass to his friend and in his best Bullwinkle voice, "So, Rocky, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Charlie burst out laughing and a voice came from inside the house, "Charlie! Do you know what time it is?"

"Sorry, Dad," Charlie yelled back, choking back his laughter. "Hey, we should start using code names for every one so they don't know we're talking about them, like I'm Rocky, you're Bullwinkle, Harrington is Fearless Leader, Edmonson is Boris Badenov." He thought for a moment.

"Well Fleinhardt has to be Mr. Peabody and Sinclair and Granger are Edgar and Chauncey." Mike added.

"Yeah and Robin is Natasha, I mean she's not evil, but you know, her…ahh she's …" Charlie blushed at mentioning that his brother's fiancé was pretty hot. He cleared his throat. "And Don, who else could he be except…"

And they both shouted at the same time "Duddly-Do-Right!" And they both nearly fell off their chairs laughing.

"Boys, do not make me come out there!" The voice piped up again from the house, this time far more forceful.

The two men looked at each other and mouthed the word. "Boys!"

They did their best to stifle their laughter before the older Eppes man really did put on his robe and come out to the patio. Charlie knew from bitter experience that that would be very bad.

"So, you're leaving on Monday." Charlie said, finishing the rest of his wine.

"This will be short one. I'll be back in couple of months." Mike said.

"You'd better be back." Charlie said. "You keep yourself safe, Mike. I don't think I could take losing anyone else right now."

"I'll keep in contact as much as I can. Look for messages from B.J.M. That'll be me. And you, little partner, you steer clear of Harrington; we'll take care of him together. When I get back, I'll look for a small apartment. I think I'm going to be spending a lot more time around here than I intended."

"I'll look for your messages and you look for coded messages from R.J.S. I'll use a simple cipher. I'll send you the algorithm as soon as I work it out."

"You do that." Mike chuckled.

Charlie yawned and stretched. "You still look like Randy Orton." he said with a sigh.

"Bastard." Mike said and they watched in silence as the sun rose over the city.

Monday morning at six AM Charlie stood on the porch beside his friend while he waited for a cab. It felt odd to be saying goodbye to the man who had become such an important part of his life. "I could drive you to the airport." Charlie said, wrapping his arms around himself against the chill.

"No need. I can use the alone time to go over my itinerary." Mike checked his watch. "Look, you and your brother have a good time in Washington. I have a nice home, you'll like it. It's a log house. I built it myself little by little; took me nearly five years to complete." He smiled. "Don't worry; it has all the modern conveniences. You won't have to shit in the woods. There are bears though, so keep an eye out."

"Thanks. I'll try to remember not to look like bear food or go hiking with a sirloin strapped to my ass." Charlie said.

Mike reached in his jacket pocket. "Partner, I have another gift for you." He pulled out a bead chain and put it around Charlie's neck.

Charlie lifted the chain and looked at it. "Dog tags, Mike." He said, "I guess there is a message here."

"Of course there is. While you are considering Harrington's request I want you to think about this. Even though he does not intend to shove a gun in your hands and put you on a fucking battlefield, he is putting you in harm's way and if something goes wrong, it will go wrong fast and bad and there will be no way out of there. If the worst happens, your buddies will put your dog tags between your teeth like this." he reached over, taking the tags, he put them in Charlie's mouth and lifted his chin until they were clamped between his teeth.

"Hey!" Charlie spit the tags out and pushed his friends hand away.

"I'd say I'm sorry to be so harsh but I'm not. It would hurt to send you home in a bag with those tags between your teeth. I've done that far too many times over the years. I've stood at far too many doors and spoken with far too many grieving parents. We're not regular military so you won't even get the honor you'd deserve and not so much as a flag will be presented to your family. Think about this before you decide."

"And if I decide to do it?" Charlie asked.

"Well then I'll be personally training you before we deploy and I can promise you the worst twelve weeks of your life." He laughed. "But we are partners so as the saying goes, whither thou goest, I will go; and whither thou lodgest, I will lodge."

Charlie just looked at his friend. "Mike," he said solemnly, "are we engaged now? Should we register at Mercs 'R Us?" A sly smile touched his lips.

Mike shoved Charlie so hard, he nearly knocked him down. "You SOB!"

They both laughed and turned around as the cab pulled up the driveway and stopped. The driver got out and opened the trunk and tossed Mike's duffle bag in.

"Charlie, be careful, don't trust anyone except Don. I'll be back in a couple of months. We can work out a few details then. You know how to contact me if you have to. I don't think we'll be hearing from our friend for a while but if you even suspect…" Mike laid his hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"I know what to do." Charlie said and looked up at the clear blue horizon. "Mike, there's a storm gathering out there and I think it's going to be a rough one."

"How well I know it, my friend, how well I know it." Mike whispered.

"You take care." Charlie said softly, his voice hoarse. "Don't come back in a bag with your dog tags in your teeth."

"I'll do my best." Mike gave Charlie a quick hug, got in the cab and was gone.

Charlie looked towards the horizon again and shivered. _'A crow must be walking on my grave'_ he thought and went inside.

TCB


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

The Seventh Trumpet

Chapter Fifteen

_Sacred Interlude_

Being alone was the difficult part. When the old house was filled with people and laughter, Charlie could almost forget and enjoy himself. It was when he was alone and the house was silent, that the ghosts came out to play. Every creak of the floor, every shadow reminded him of the night his life went to hell. Far too often he saw Hicks lurking in a dark corner—waiting. Occasionally Charlie heard him singing that old Nick Cave song, the one he sang to torment his prisoner. It echoed through the halls of the old house like the dying moans of a lost soul.

Sleep was becoming a fond memory. If he managed to find it at all, he would wake within an hour or two, not sure of where he was, drenched in sweat and terrified someone was going to set him on fire in his own bed. Once he drifted off in front of the television only to wake gasping that he couldn't breathe, that he was choking on blood, embarrassing himself and scaring the hell out of his poor father. The fear that he might one day lose his grip and spend his life lost in his own head began to seem like a real possibility, only adding to his overwrought, over-anxious mind.

His father and brother tried to reassure him that the house was safe, that no one could enter without the new state of- the-art security system instantly alerting him and the security firm. The cops would be there in minutes, an estimation of response time the mathematician greatly doubted. Charlie had only sighed and nodded. Hicks was not some street punk. He was insidious and brilliant. In the minutes it would take for help to arrive he could break in, gut his target like a rabbit and disappear into the night. The man was a Bond villain!

But most of all Charlie knew he couldn't totally trust this modern marvel wired into his home. He knew this because he had an intimate knowledge of computers, their language and how they worked. And the system was not much more than a computer. It would stop ninety-eight percent of assailants, but to a man like Hicks or even himself, it would prove to be only a minor inconvenience. He tried to explain to his father that there was no such thing as burglar-proof. But the high-tech bundle of wires and components made the older Eppes man and Don feel better about his safety, so he left it alone. He knew the truth and that was enough.

He didn't tell his FBI brother or his dad, but hoping to prove himself wrong, he tested their wonderful alarm using his vast knowledge of codes and algorithms. He took a couple of days to quietly study it then, while his father was at work, he shut the entire system down. He walked around inside the house, and then rebooted it without even the slightest whisper of an alarm going off anywhere, not even at the security firm that monitored it. He had chuckled to himself thinking perhaps he could start a new career: Dr. Charles Eppes, suave and sophisticated international jewel thief and man of mystery. He'd attend the best parties, sleep with beautiful, hot women, and drive a black Lamborghini. _'Maybe another lifetime,'_ he thought with a wistful smile.

PTSD; that was what everyone told him he was suffering from, Post- traumatic Stress Disorder, and that he should get help. Don offered to get a referral from the therapist he had used, but Charlie wasn't sure he wanted to do that. Considering the _organizations_ he worked for, he wasn't sure he even COULD do that. He didn't know what he wanted to do.

It was like he stood in the middle of a field with roads running in all directions. He could see everyone he knew making their way along their chosen paths rushing towards bright and successful futures. Even his big brother was no longer that walled-off, emotionally distant man, searching for answers in isolation that Charlie had always known. Don had found his way and was advancing at the Bureau and planning a life with the woman he loved. They were even house hunting and talking about kids. He was happier than Charlie had seen him in years. Larry was seeing a woman on a regular basis. They seemed to be getting serious and he was so completely focused in his life these days; it was truly amazing. Even his father had found someone. She was a beautiful lady who shared his love of golf and was almost as good as the old man himself. He spent a lot of time at her condo. Charlie was glad for his family and friends. He was delighted they had found happiness, but it seemed everyone was moving farther and farther away and he was being left behind.

"And THAT is why you need help, little bro!" Don had exclaimed when Charlie told him how emotionally paralyzed he felt these days. "There is no algorithm to cure PTSD. You can't math your way out of this one, buddy. You need the help of a professional!"

After Charlie watched Mike's cab pull out of the driveway, he went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. His father was upstairs asleep. It would be another hour before his alarm went off waking him so he could get dressed for work. Alan Eppes' youngest son frowned. His dad had spent his entire adult life working hard to provide for his family. Now it should be his turn. He should be playing golf every day or grabbing lunch with his friends. He shouldn't have to get up at seven in the morning to make that horrendous drive to downtown L.A and then spend eight hours sitting in a tiny cubical, before making the equally nerve-wracking return trip. He had once again let his dad know that he didn't have to do this, that he could take care of him. The older man had once again reminded his big hearted, thoughtful, youngest that he worked because he enjoyed it and that fathers take care of their children, not the other way around.

Charlie waited until he heard his father moving about upstairs to scramble some eggs and make toast. He poured two glasses of orange juice and greeted him with a smile and as cheerful a good morning as he could muster when the older man rushed into the dining room.

"So, what are up to today?" Alan asked as he finished his toast and took a sip of coffee.

"I need to pick up some books I left in my office at CalSci and Larry wants to meet for lunch. I told him I'd look over some figures for a paper he's publishing." Charlie nibbled at a piece of toast. "By the way, Don's coming for dinner. He's staying the night so we can leave early tomorrow. I guess I'd also better pack."

Alan smiled, "I'm glad the two of you are taking this trip together. It'll do both of you some good."

"I hope so," Charlie frowned, dropping the half eaten piece of toast on his plate.

"You don't sound like you want to go." Alan sounded concerned.

"It's not that, I'm just not sure Don wants to go." He shrugged and looked down at his plate then shoved it away. "I mean two weeks away from the FBI and Robin saddled with his kid brother, that doesn't sound like Don. I'm afraid this is a pity trip."

"So what if it is. Don loves you and he's worried about you. He wants to help so let him." He glanced at his watch. "And I'm going to be late!" He stood. Tousling his son's dark curls he said "You could use a haircut." He affectionately kissed Charlie on the top of his unkempt head and darted for the door, grabbing his briefcase as he went.

Charlie sat at the table for a few minutes after his father's hasty exit, staring at a spot on the wall trying not to let his imagination override his good sense. He heard the neighbor's car door slam and the soft roar of an engine as they left for the day. Mrs. Hodgkin's let her Weimaraner, Elsa out for her morning romp in the back yard. She immediately spotted a squirrel or a bird and began barking. It was a morning like every other morning since he could remember, still felt a chill go down his spine for no reason he could discern.

"Charlie, get up and do something." He said to himself, surprised at how loud his voice sounded in the empty house. He needed some sound besides his own breathing so he turned on the radio. The inane babble of the morning crew on his father's favorite classic rock station filled the room. The music wasn't to his taste, but he supposed Pink Floyd and Jethro Tull could mask the sounds of the vintage house settling as well as anything.

He gathered the dishes and took them into the kitchen, rinsed off the remaining egg and put them in the dishwasher. He scrubbed the skillet he had used, dried it and put it away. He could almost hear Mike's voice harping at him about the counters and the sink. _"Come on Eppes, police the area correctly! Look at those water spots in that sink. Put some muscle in it Professor, and make it shine!" _God, Mike could be a pain in the ass sometimes! Glancing around the kitchen he made sure it was spotless enough to pass inspection with GySgt Donovan. Giving himself passing marks, he grabbed his backpack and laptop and headed for the park.

Towards noon, Larry Fleinhardt phoned Charlie on his cell to remind the absentminded professor that they had a lunch date. He knew the mathematician was leaving for the wilds of Washington State the next morning, and he wanted to make sure his young friend checked his calculations before he left. The physicist stopped by Charlie's office and picked up the books he had requested then hurried to a café just off campus. Charlie was late of course and totally disheveled when he arrived. He told his former professor and friend that he had been in the middle of something when he received his call and had literally ran home to grab the Range Rover to make their meeting.

Charlie ordered a cup of tea and thanking Larry for picking up the books, he sat them on the bench beside him. He took Larry's notebook and went over the figures with a fine tooth comb. He wanted to make sure they were correct so Larry could finish his paper.

"Charles, would you like something? As I recall, you favored the turkey club." Larry asked as the waitress placed a glass of water in front of him and a pot of hot water and a teabag in front of his colleague.

"Hmm?" Charlie frowned and looked up, "No, I had a big breakfast, thank you for the offer, though." He said and returned his attention to the figures at hand. "Larry, this is very good work!" He said after an hour of silence. "For the most part, it's perfect. I made a couple of notes in the margin, besides that, it's good to go."

"Thank you, Charles," Larry took the notebook from his friend's hand. "As always, I find your assistance invaluable." He hesitated for a second. "Charles, are you feeling—satisfactory?" He asked with a furrowed brow. "As of late you seem very detached."

"I don't know Larry, I just don't know." He said and looked out the window at the passing crowd.

Charlie sipped his tea and laughed as his friend related the latest CalSci gossip, scandals, and political maneuvering. He really wasn't shocked that a professor from the computer science department was sleeping with his T.A. That had been an open secret for a while. What was surprising was that he was resigning his position to travel the country in an RV with the T.A., his strangely understanding wife and their two kids. And of course there was always the usual jockeying for promotions and tenure.

"Nothing ever really changes in the academic world, Charles." Larry had said with a heavy sigh.

Charlie finished his tea, telling his friend that he would call him as soon as he got back and wishing him luck with his paper. Maybe they could go out for dinner and Larry should bring his new lady friend. He hated to have to take off, but he had to put a roast in the oven and it was going to take time to cook. Charlie invited the older man to join them for dinner, but Larry had plans.

An hour later, Charlie was turning on the oven to let it preheat. He took the roasting pan out of the refrigerator and removed the aluminum foil. As usual his father had prepared for an army. The day before he had gone to his butcher and picked up a huge well marbled roast, the best cut they had. Then he added potatoes, carrots and pearl onions. He seasoned it all perfectly. All Charlie had to do was put it in the oven by four so they could eat at around seven. He glanced at the clock when he heard the front door open and his big brother announced his arrival.

"You're early." The younger Eppes man said.

"Yeah, well I just put Robin on a plane for Sacramento. She has to deal with some problems with a case so I decided to get a jump start on our trip." Don said as he grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, opened it and took a swig. He watched as his brother slipped the roast in the preheated oven, closed the door and set the timer for three hours. "You're becoming quite the cook, little bro. Are you trying to compete with Dad or maybe you're planning on becoming the Emeril Lagasse of Pasadena?"

"Dad put the thing together, I just put it in the oven." Charlie said, leaning against the counter. "Dinner will be at seven, hope that's okay."

"Sounds great, hey, there's a game on tonight I'd like to see it, if that's okay." Don said.

"That's fine with me." Charlie smiled. He was sure his father would enjoy the game as well. He really didn't care that much about sports, but he watched with them just to be a part of things.

"So, did your BFF get on his way?" Don asked.

Charlie narrowed his eyes. Since he and the marine had become such unlikely friends, Don had starting referred to Mike as his BFF. His big brother could be such a jerk. "Don, ESAD." Charlie said quietly.

The clueless FBI agent looked at him with the beer poised halfway to his mouth as if he was trying to work out what his brother had just said.

"Eat shit and die, big bro." Charlie explained with a small smile. "I put him in a cab this morning. He'll be back in two months."

"I guess he's headed for distant and dangerous lands." Don took another sip of beer.

"That's what Fer de Lance does." Charlie said.

Don looked at the floor for a second. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he didn't know about Charlie and probably never would. Where did he go when he was on assignment for the Agency or Fer de Lance? Were they the same organization or were they separate entities? What did he do for them? Was it the same job as he did for the NSA or was it different?

The closest thing he had received to an answer to any of his questions was one night while they were watching a DVD and he asked Charlie pointblank about this mysterious Agency. If they weren't CIA or NSA, then who the hell were they? His brother had only cocked his head to the side a little and with a cryptic smile said, "We're like that band, The Gorillaz, we don't really exist." Somehow that was no comfort at all. Don only prayed that Charlie's relationship with these shadowy people never led him to 'distant and dangerous lands'.

And then it struck him as he looked into his liquid brown eyes. His math geek baby brother who liked metal music, horror films, nature documentaries and Dr. Who _was_ one of those shadowy people. This kind, gentle man who changed the television channel every time that ad with the Sarah McLaughlin song came on because the animals almost made him made him cry was also a man who worked in secrecy with mercenaries. It was almost impossible for Don to reconcile the Charlie in his life with the one who dwelled in a dark, clandestine world he could never know or enter. Don hoped that specter of a man never fully replaced the sweet and funny brother he knew and cherished.

"Hey, that hunk of beef has a few hours to cook, why don't you grab a beer and we can go out on the patio and chill for a while?" Don asked pushing his dark thoughts about his brother aside. He wanted to keep the mood light and cheerful. This was not the time to get morose and heavy.

"Sounds good." Charlie grabbed a cold one and followed his brother out the back door.

They settled into their respective seats and talked about the team, their dad and of course, Don's upcoming nuptials. Charlie hit him with a barrage of questions. How's the house hunting going? Have they set a date for the big event? Would there BE a big event or would the happy couple just go the justice of peace to do the deed. Don told him all that was still up in the air. They wanted something nice, but neither of them wanted a coronation that costs thousands.

Charlie piped up with, "I have an idea! Make it a party and go to The Hunk-a, Hunk-a Burning Love Wedding Chapel and Keno Parlor in Vegas." This gained him a smack on the shoulder from his big brother who nearly spewed beer from his nose.

"I think Robin wants something a little more romantic than an Elvis impersonator." Don laughed.

"If you guys want you can have it here in the garden. Remember the wedding Dad planed for Val? I think he still has that Brides Magazine. Let Alan Eppes, Wedding Planer do the dirty work." Charlie took a sip of his beer.

"I'll run Dad planing our wedding by Robin and when she comes after me with a knife, I'll point her in your direction, but having the wedding in the garden might be a good idea. It really is beautiful. You have done a great job out here, Charlie."

"Thanks. I'm thinking of adding some rocks and a bench by the koi pond. I just have to find the right ones." Charlie looked out over his yard.

"Buddy, I am really looking forward to this trip with you. It should be a lot of fun." Don finished his beer and sat the bottle on the table. "I think getting away from Pasadena and everything here for a couple of weeks is just what we both need."

"Are you sure? I mean having me around has never been a favorite pastime for you. If you want to back out, I'll understand."

Don shook his head. "Hell no, I am not backing out. We need this." He looked towards the pond. "I haven't always been the best big brother. When we were kids, I guess I was kind of hard on you sometimes and I know I said things I shouldn't have."

"I wish the aliens would take you away forever, or my kid brother is really a robot my father built in the garage, a really ugly robot with a big nose, that kind of thing, Don?" Charlie said.

The older brother cringed at hearing his own childish taunts thrown back at him."I was angry Charlie and in my defense, I was sorry the second I said that. I tried to tell you but you ran away. You didn't come around much after that."

"As I recall, that happened just after I ruined your birthday party. You were still furious with me and you had a right to be. But Don, it was more than just that one time. You didn't want me around before that day or after it. You seemed to have a lot more fun if I was absent. Except for the times Mom and Dad forced us together, I barely existed for you."

"Buddy that's not…" Don interrupted.

"Yes, it is true, but let me finish. Of course I was hurt by the things you said. After all, you were the big brother I looked to for protection and you made fun of me just like everyone else. But Don, you were thirteen, I was eight. Today five years isn't much of an age difference, but back then it was huge. No teenager wants their baby brother hanging around. And maybe I did come off like a robot to you and your friends," Charlie smiled. "But the ugly, big nose part still pisses me off." Then he again became serious.

"Don, I know that you felt abandoned and that you blamed me for taking Mom and Dad away from you." Charlie laid his hand on his brother's wrist to keep him from protesting. "I feel like I'm to blame for the way you distanced yourself from the family and especially from me. If I hadn't have been around, your childhood would have been normal and much happier. There's no use denying that, so shut up." He said as Don started to open his mouth. "I'm very sorry, big brother and I wish I could go back in time and change a lot of things. Unfortunately I have not conquered time travel, but Larry is working on it along with interdimensional travel." Both men smiled.

"Big bro, I don't want to keep dragging all these past sins around like Jacob Marley's chains! They chafe and life's far too short, it can end at any moment. I just want to let it all go, except for the ugly, big nosed robot part. That stays!" Charlie grinned, "So, what do you say that we just forgive the past and work on all new ways to annoy each other?"

Don ran his hand his over his eyes. He hadn't wanted things to get so heavy, but they had and with a few words, his brother had lifted the guilt he had carried for many years from his shoulders. "Charles Edward Eppes, you are a wise man, a total nut job, but a wise man." He squeezed his brother's hand, "Now, let's go check that roast and grab another beer."

"I'm up for that!" Charlie said as they stood and headed for the kitchen. "You know I think this trip is going to be great after all."

"Yeah, it'll be just like that Steinbeck book, you know the one," Don said pointedly, "_Travels with Charley."_

The mathematician stopped dead in his tracks, remembering the great American writer and his black poodle. "Wait a minute! Is that a crack about my hair?" But his big brother continued walking. "It is! That's a hair joke, isn't it? DON…" Charlie shouted as his brother disappeared into the house. He grinned and sprinted to catch up._  
_

_oooooooooooooooooo_

The next morning the two brothers woke just as the sun was coming up. They had loaded the Range Rover the night before so all they had to do was say good-bye to their dad, who seemed absolutely overjoyed to see his sons getting along so well. The older man was all but jumping up and down at the prospect of having the place to himself for while. He was so ecstatic in fact, that while the two younger Eppes' men got dressed, he filled a couple of travel mugs with hot coffee, then practically threw the mugs at his sons as he shoved them out the door, chiding them that they should hit the road before rush hour.

"Dad, this is L.A." Don said as he slipped into the driver's seat and fastened his seat belt. "It's always rush hour."

"Yeah, well it gets worse soon so you two had better get moving." He said.

Charlie leaned over his brother, "Dad, I'll call you from the road and check in, but if you need us please just…" He said.

"Son, I think I can take care of myself." Alan Eppes said. "Now, get going and drive carefully! Don, watch your brother's speed when he drives, you know how he is."

"Don't worry; I'll keep an eye on Professor Leadfoot." Don grinned and turned the key to start the engine. He rolled up the car window and waved at his father as they pulled out of the driveway.

"I think I've been insulted." Charlie said with a scowl.

Don chuckled. "We'll get out of the city and stop for breakfast, does that sound okay?"

Charlie nodded and fiddled with the radio, trying to find a morning show that didn't 'blow', as he put it.

"So, what do you think that was all about? It was like he couldn't wait to get rid of us." Don asked.

"I don't know. Maybe he has a woman coming over." Charlie said then paused. He looked at his brother, who looked at him until he was forced to focus his attention back on the road when a horn blared from a car he nearly hit. The brothers knew their father was dating again and they were happy for him. But in the way of grown children everywhere, the thought that their dad could have an active sex life made them extremely uncomfortable.

"He probably just wants to be alone." Charlie said hurriedly. "I mean I'm always there, underfoot so I'm sure he's looking forward to some alone time."

"Yeah, that must be it." Don added and neither of them spoke for a while.

"Think we should give Dad an hour then turn around and see if we can catch him having old people sex?" Charlie smirked.

"Good God, Charlie, that's disgusting!" Don shouted, a shudder running through his body. "What's the matter with you? Damn, shut up!"

At breakfast Don suggested that instead of the freeway they take the Pacific Coast Highway up to San Francisco and cut over from there. They could take their time and stop and see the sights along the way. Charlie had recently purchased a Nikon D3SLR with lenses. He had brought his camera equipment with him and he thought that sounded like a great idea. The PCH took you through some of the most beautiful, awe inspiring scenery in the country and he could get some great shots. That settled, they finished their breakfast and Charlie paid the check as Don brought the car around.

The two weeks that followed were perfection as far as Charlie was concerned. For the rest of his life, it would remain one of the best times he would ever spend with his brother. From the drive up to the drive home, things could not have been better. They both enjoyed the good natured fights over radio stations and CD's. They took turns driving, with Don making sure Charlie did not acquire any more speeding tickets.

They took their time, thoroughly enjoying the road less traveled, making several stops along the way. They spent a full day in Carmel and went on to Big Sur where they spent another day. Charlie snapped away with his new toy telling Don he would give him copies of the best pictures. A few times, Charlie set the camera up so they could both be in the shot. These would become some of his favorites. They weren't artsy like the one's he would Photoshop later; they were just simple pictures of two brothers, their arms around each other's shoulders smiling. From there they hit San Francisco. They spent a pleasant day doing the tourist thing they both hated most of time. By sunset they decided they had meandered enough and it was time to push on to their destination so they picked up the pace and headed for Washington State.

Both men had been surprised by the 'log house' Mike Donovan called home. Charlie was thinking 'cabin', but the place was no tiny shack. It was a huge rambling house with four bedrooms, an enormous living room with a vaulted ceiling and a fireplace. There was a loft overlooking the living room that Mike set up as an office. Outside there was a large deck with a spectacular view of a crystal clear lake and snow covered mountains. The air was crisp, clean and fragrant with pine. But the thing that impressed both of them the most was that besides the rustle of the wind in the abundant trees, it was blissfully peaceful. They stood on the deck, taking it all in for an hour before Don pointed out they should run into town for some supplies before it got dark. After stocking the refrigerator and shelves with food, beer and wine, they settled in to enjoy their first night in paradise.

They drew straws to decide who would cook that first night and who would clean up. Don won that round and he decided to grill a couple of T- Bones, ears of corn, and potatoes, hardy guy food, he called it. As Don cooked, Charlie set the table. Both men looked towards the front of the house when they heard the sound of a truck pulling up. Don rushed to the breakfront for the Glock he had placed in a drawer upon their arrival. A few seconds later, a knock came at the door. Charlie cautiously cracked it open, aware Don was watching with the Glock ready if he needed it.

"Dr. Eppes?" The man looked familiar, but the mathematician couldn't place him.

"Yes," he said. "Do I know you?"

"No sir, I'm Neil Taylor. I have the spread next door, which is about fifteen miles due east, by the way." He smiled. "I have someone with me who'd like to see you." He whistled and a blur of fawn colored fur bounded onto the porch.

Now Charlie threw the door wide open. "Larry, come here boy!" And the dog pounced on him, knocking him on his ass, climbing in his lap with his tail wagging madly, panting and covering his face in doggy drool. "I thought you'd have forgotten me by now." He said scratching pointed ears. He looked up to see his brother relax and put his gun back in the drawer.

"Charlie, you are aware that there is a man standing outside in the cold, aren't you?" He laughed and held out his hand, introducing himself. Charlie was still on the floor with an armful of canine affection in his lap.

"That's okay, I understand." The man laughed, holding out his hand. "I'm Neil Taylor, as I told Dr. Eppes."

"Charlie," The mathematician said untangling himself from his old friend, standing, and shaking hands with their guest. "Just call me Charlie."

"Okay then-Charlie." He smiled. "Donovan told me you were coming and asked me to stop in and make sure you got settled with no problems."

"We appreciate that. It really is beautiful here." Don said a bit stunned at the man standing there with a huge brindle dog at his feet. He was small and thin. His face had a few lines, mostly around his dark intelligent eyes. His dark brown curly hair was streaked with white and his smile was friendly and ready. He was wearing faded jeans and a worn Led Zeppelin tee shirt under his jacket. He glanced at his brother who was wearing faded jeans and a worn White Strips tee shirt.

_"Holy shit!" _The FBI Agent thought. _"Where are Scully and Mulder when you need them?"_

"I'm sorry if I was rude, but I'm just so glad he remembers me!" Charlie said, stepping aside. "Come on in. Would you like a beer or a glass of wine?"

"I don't want to interrupt. I can see you're getting ready to eat. I just wanted to make sure you boys got here okay. The mountain roads can be tricky. And I've brought a load of firewood. Mike said you're low."

"Thank you so much." Charlie said, "We can eat anytime, in fact, we can toss on another steak, it's no trouble. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"You're very kind, but I don't want to impose."

"It's not an imposition." Don piped in. "You brought firewood which means I don't have to chop any. My back thanks you. Dinner is the least we can offer. Do you need to call your wife and let her know you're going to be late?"

"I've never been married. I guess I always valued my freedom too much and my work is pretty solitary and occupies most of my time. A wife just didn't fit into all of that." Neil said, "And a steak would be terrific. I was planning on opening a can of chili."

"How about a glass of merlot or we have beer, if you prefer? We'll help you unload the wood after dinner." Charlie said as he headed for the kitchen with Neil and the dogs following.

"A glass of wine would be fine. This is Lydia by the way." He nodded at the other dog. "She and Larry have become very good friends."

Dinner was an eerie affair for Don. He sat practically open mouthed watching as the two men chatted. Except for their ages, they could have been twins. They even had similar dogs sitting beside them as they talked. The only difference was the color of their coats. And to top it off, the older man was a retired professor of mathematics from MIT. The theme music from _The X Files_ began playing in Don's head.

They talked about people Don had never heard of and mathematical principles he found incomprehensible. His eyes went from one man to the other in bemused amazement. He wished to hell their father and the team could see this. He wished he had a camcorder because they were never going to believe him! It was as if some weird wormhole effect had transpired and a future Charlie had come back in time to meet the present day Charlie. This was a dinner for the books! There was one thing he was glad to see, his brother was laughing and he was at last eating more than a bite or two.

After the meal was finished and the dishes removed to the kitchen, Charlie and Don helped Neil to unload the firewood and stack it. He instructed the brothers on how to start a fire in the huge fireplace, showing them a couple of things particular to it. For the most part, it was like any other fireplace, but it could be a problem if you didn't know its peculiarities. Then they went outside and he showed them the generator.

"The place is equipped with a whole-house generator." He explained. "There are propane tanks buried in the ground about one-hundred yards from here and they are full. If the power goes out for more than twenty minutes, it should automatically kick in, but if it doesn't you can start it manually." He showed them the switch. "There's also a backup gas generator, just in case the main one fails. It will run a few lights and the water pump. We're on wells out here so no power means no water and no plumbing." He smiled at Charlie, "If both systems fail, you just might have to shit in the woods." He said.

Charlie blushed bright red swearing vengeance on Mike the next time he saw him.

"By the way, your cell phones won't work up here. There's no signal once you're ten miles out of town. We do have landlines, but they're down right now. They should be up in a day or two. If you have to contact someone you can go into town. We do have internet though— go figure. I guess there's just no escaping technology. If, God forbid, you need medical help, we have one doctor in town. He's also the coroner so if you die, you're covered."

Then he told them some of the best trails for hiking and places to fish, if they liked that kind of thing. The lake was icy cold so no swimming, but there were a couple of canoes they could use to go boating. It was close to ten o'clock when he loaded the dogs in his old truck and headed home, but before he left, Don insisted on borrowing Charlie's camera so he could take a picture of the two men and the dogs together. He told his subjects it was just a vacation photo, but being in law enforcement, he knew when he told the others about this close encounter, he was going to have to have proof.

"That was wild!" Don said as the truck lights disappeared down the driveway.

"Why? He seems like a great guy and Larry is really happy." Charlie said.

"He's just like…" Don tried to explain, "You mean you didn't see it?"

Charlie looked confused. "See what?"

"You didn't notice that he's…!" Don looked at the expression on his brother's face and gave up. Sometimes the genius was totally oblivious to what was obvious to everyone else. "Never mind," Don said, and went to grab a beer. There was no use discussing this with his kid brother, but he couldn't wait to tell their father how he had met Future Charlie and it was scary.

The next morning, exhausted from the trip, they slept in later than usual. After waking, they had a leisurely breakfast and then decided to try out one of the trails Neil had recommended. Now Charlie was in his element. Don might be better on a pair of hockey skates or on a baseball diamond, but the professor could leave his brother in the dust on the trails. He packed lunches for them and plenty of water. They hiked through some beautiful but rugged country with Charlie pacing himself so Don didn't feel pressured to push himself beyond his skills. The last thing the smaller man needed was to have to try and carry his brother down the trail if he fell and broke his ankle. They reached a clearing and stopped to rest and eat lunch before they started back. They walked around the lake for a few miles noting how much their father would enjoy fishing there. By that time the sun was starting to go down so they headed back to the house.

Charlie made dinner this time and it was Don's turn to clean up. He decided on pasta with meat sauce and garlic bread. They both ate far too much then, after the dishes were put away, they retired to the living room to relax. Don built a fire then slouched in the easy chair in front of it, a cold beer in his hand. Charlie tossed one of the sleeping bags they had brought on the floor in front of the blazing fireplace and stretched out on top of it with a bottle of a fairly decent medium priced wine and propped himself up on one elbow.

The FBI agent regaled his younger brother with stories about college and a couple of cheerleaders he once dated. They were very—limber and enthusiastic to say the least. Things were going great until they found out about each other. They actually got into a fight during a game. Blond hair, pompoms and sequins were flying everywhere. He told of his early days with the FBI and his time and chasing fleeing felons across the country. And he told him about Albuquerque and the people he had left behind to come home and help care for his mother.

"Now it's your turn, little brother. You must have some good stories." Don opened another beer.

"Not really Don. I mean I never did anything exciting like you. No one would ever make a movie out of my life." Charlie said.

"Come on, I told you things I never told anyone before. You have to fess-up, it's only fair! I know! Tell me something that will really shock me, something totally not my genius kid brother." Don was slurring his words a little as he took a swig of his beer.

Charlie bit his lip. "Well, I did date the B.P.G's."

"The B.P.G.'s?" Don frowned, "What the hell is that?"

"The Betty Paige Girls," Charlie said a little timidly. "We called them that because they looked and dressed like Betty Paige. They were identical twins, by the way."

"Man, you dated twin sisters! Way to go, little bro! Did they ever catch you?" Don asked amazed, remembering how his cheerleaders had ripped him a new one when they busted him.

"You don't understand. I dated them both, at- the- same- time-together. Get it?"

And Don's eyes grew wide when he realized what his little brother meant. "Damn, Charlie! And I thought you were the shy, sweet, innocent, type."

"Looking innocent can cover a multitude of sins." Charlie smiled. "Anyway, it wasn't as exciting or sordid as it sounds. For one thing, they were both lesbians. I was sort of their beard. I kept the guys away when we went out. They were doctorial candidates in chemistry. I was finishing mine in mathematics. Usually we were lost in our studies and classes, but even geeky, over-achieving geniuses want to have fun sometimes, so we'd go to this Goth club near the campus. I was with them when I met Ashley."

"You— at a Goth club," Don shook his head. "I don't know, buddy. That's kind of hard to picture."

"Back then I went through a period where I only wore black and listened to Bauhaus or Fields of the Nephilim. I thought Carl McCoy and Peter Murphy were gods." He chuckled and took a sip of wine. "My closet was like a dark pit. I had to pull a shirt out and look at it before I could be sure which one it was, not that it made much difference. All of them were pretty much the same. I was never really a Goth like some of the people I knew. I was just sort of—weird, and before you say it, yes, even weirder than I am now. I used to worship Jean-Paul Sartre. _Being and Nothingness_ was my bible for a while. I thought I was so damned deep and serious." He shrugged. "What can I say? I was young. I got over it, well most of it. I still like the music and I have a little black left in my wardrobe. I dropped the eyeliner, lipstick and nail polish though." He gave Don that look that the older Eppes brother could never read. Was he kidding about the makeup or not, Don wasn't sure.

Don sniffed, pushing that picture out of his head. "Do you still hear from the B.P.G's?" He asked.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. One of them is a professor of chemistry at Stanford. The other is still Goth and is CEO of a corporation. She designs cloths, publishes a magazine and writes books. She even records and distributes music."

"Wait, is that where you got that getup we found under your bed?" Don asked. "Cause we wondered. Colby thought maybe you had a secret life as a vampire."

Charlie winced and his cheeks turned a little red. "Geez Don, no, I'm not a vampire. I didn't buy it. It was a gift. I've never worn it."

Don lifted his half empty beer bottle and solemnly toasted his spooky little brother, Carl McCoy, Peter Murphy, the Betty Paige Girls, and Betty herself. And Don also thanked his brother for the return of his G.I. Joe. It would have been nice if he had received it while he was still young enough to play with it, but better late than never.

"Hey, I did that in anger to get back at you and then I panicked." Charlie laughed. "I wasn't sure how to retrieve it and sneak it back in your room without you catching me and kicking my ass."

The night wore on and both men were yawning and feeling the alcohol they had consumed. Don, who was now more than a little inebriated, slid from his comfortable chair onto the floor beside his brother. He put his hands on both his brother's shoulders, "Charlie." He said. "Charlie…" and seemed to lose track of what he was going to say.

"Yes, Don?" The younger man asked.

"Chuck, about all these people you're involved with and I don't give a fuck if it's the NSA, the CIA, the freaking Agency, that Fer de Bullshit or whoever, if any of them even think of sending you into some crazy assed perilous place, you tell them you can't go. I forbid it!" He gave Charlie a gentle shake.

"You what, Don?" Charlie ignored the hated _Chuck_ and his eyes widen a little.

"I'm your big brother, and it's my job to protect you. You, my little brother are a college professor and a damned good one. THAT is what you need to be doing! I forbid you to go off to someplace where you could get hurt. Is that clearly understood? I forbid it!" Don gave Charlie a quick nod and sat back, picking up his beer.

The corners of Charlie's mouth turned up a little. He loved his brother, he really did. "I'll try to keep that in mind." He said and poured himself another glass of wine.

Don woke the next morning with a pounding headache and a mouth as dry as the Mojave. He dragged himself through the shower and dressed. Then moving as quickly as his hung-over body would allow, he made his way to the kitchen.

"Bless you, little brother." he whispered when he saw the coffeemaker had been set up and a pot of strong, piping hot French roast was waiting for him along with breakfast in the microwave, a bottle of Aleve and a note: _Hope this helps, Gone for a walk to get a few shots. See you later, C. Eppes. _

Don smiled at the _C. Eppes_, then poured himself a cup and drank it, black.

He ate the breakfast Charlie had left in the microwave and drank another cup of coffee. The Aleve was helping and he was starting to feel a little better. He glanced at his watch and scowled. Speaking of Charlie, just where the hell was he? Don didn't like it at all that his brother had taken off by himself. He knew that in the past the mathematician often went hiking alone, but considering recent events, the FBI agent preferred he stay within sight. Pushing away from the table, he grabbed the binoculars he had left there the day before. He went out onto the deck and stood at the railing, slowly scanning the lake and trails hoping to spot his wayward brother. At first he saw nothing then he spotted a figure in the distance among a stand of pines. He could barely make out the shape, but he could tell it was male and moving fairly fast.

"Damn it, what is he thinking, going that far alone?" Don whispered.

The man in question opened the front door as gently as possible in case his older brother was still asleep. He closed it and turned to see Don standing on the deck with a pair of binoculars. He shook his head knowing full well that he was in over protective big brother mode and trying to keep an eye on him from the house. He sat his camera down and as quietly as a mouse crept up behind a totally focused Don. He glanced over his shoulder to see what he was looking so intently at then leaned in and whispered.

"Spot Big Foot yet?"

"SHIT! SON OF A….!" Don shouted and spun around, nearly tossing the binoculars across the deck. "Damn it, Charlie, NEVER sneak up on me like that, I might have decked you!" He gasped.

Charlie jumped back and was laughing so hard he doubled over. "Sorry Mother, I just cannot believe you are spying on me with those damned things!" He had tears running down his face then seeing the look in Don's eyes, he gave a shout and ran towards the front door with his big brother right behind him.

Time passed far too quickly for the brothers. It seemed they no sooner arrived, than they had to pack up and head home. They woke early and began loading the car. As Don threw the last of their luggage in the back of the Range Rover, Charlie took a moment to look back at the house. It had been a long time since he had been as happy as he had been for last two weeks. He had had his doubts about going on this trip, but it could not have gone better and he felt closer to his brother than he ever had.

Charlie turned and looked at the car. Maybe it was the icy drizzle or the way the gusty wind caused the trees to sway and cast shadows over his brother, but sadness touched the edge of his mind. He remembered the night his brother had found him on the kitchen floor, the night he had broken down so completely and wept in his arms. _'I promise you that nothing you have ever done or ever could do would make me turn my back on you or stop loving you.' _Suddenly he knew that Don had made a promise he would not be able to keep.

"Buddy, we'd better get going before the weather gets any worse." Don shouted closing the back of the Range Rover and climbing into the driver's seat.

A smile touched Charlie's lips. Whatever may lie ahead, for now, for this brief, sacred interlude before the coming storm, he had his big brother in his life. Charlie knew that would not always be true so he vowed to take the precious moments he was being given and treasure them because cold, hard, times over the horizon, just out of view and he was going to have to deal with them alone. He ran and slid into the passenger seat as the icy drizzle slowly changed to snow.

TCB


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I own no part of Numb3rs. This is just for fun

Rated T for violence and language

Epilogue

_What a Wicked Game We Play_

Charlie Eppes checked his cell phone for the time as he swiftly made his way towards the visitors parking garage of the Los Angeles Field Office of the FBI and the borrowed Range Rover. It was now past midnight, far later than he had intended on being out, and his father had called him at least twice in the last hour concerned, but by and large, glad that his youngest was doing something other than hiding in the house or the park and tapping away at a laptop for hours on end.

The older man was also overjoyed that his two sons were once again working together on a case, although Don, ever the over protective big brother, had initially refused to allow his younger brother's involvement. In fact Don seemed determined to keep Charlie as far away from the FBI as possible. Whereas Charlie, ever the persistent younger brother, had reminded him on numerous occasions that he was ready to come back. Don had assured him that as soon as he had a case that required the mathematician's skills, he would call. Well, it had been three weeks since they had returned from their vacation and still no call, even though Charlie knew of at least four cases in which he would have been an enormous help.

Finally in frustration, the younger Eppes brother decided to launch a pre-emptive strike and engage Don on his own turf. Under the guise of taking his brother to lunch, Charlie made a surprise visit to Headquarters. He had found the office a flurry of activity. When he walked in the door for the first time since his abduction, the entire bullpen had greeted him with handshakes and hugs. It touched him to realize he had been missed, not just as a consultant, but as a friend and as a member of the team.

"Dr. Eppes, it is great to see you, sir. Agent Eppes and the others are in the Assistant Director's office. They should be finished soon. Would you like some coffee?" A young second year agent, Eric Walton, asked as he shook Charlie's hand.

"Call me Charlie," the mathematician said reminding the young agent once again he did not have to be so formal. "No, I'm good." Charlie smiled remembering the sludge the agents euphemistically called 'coffee'. "How's Lisa? Isn't that baby about due?" He asked, wishing he had made a run through Starbucks before arriving at the office since it looked like he might get stuck for a while.

"In three weeks. As much as Lisa is looking forward to no longer being pregnant, I think I want it twice as much as she. I love my wife, but she's been on a hormonal roller coaster you wouldn't believe. To make matters worse, her mother is staying with us to help with the baby for a few weeks."

"You have my sympathy. Dealing with a pregnant woman is not something I have any experience with, much less a mother-in-law," Charlie said. "But my dad can be a pill when he's harping at me about something I forgot to do or he feels I should be doing and well, you work with Don every day. I think my older brother trumps your mother-in-law any day of the week."

Eric laughed, "You haven't met my mother-in -law. Anyway, there's no one in Agent Eppes' office if you'd like to wait in there, I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"That would be great and tell your wife hello for me." Charlie said and headed for Don's office.

_'And he makes fun of my mess!'_ Charlie thought as he settled in a chair in front of the cluttered desk. Files were piled everywhere along with half finished reports and the remains of a bagel from a hasty breakfast Don had consumed at his desk several hours before. Charlie pulled his laptop out of his backpack meaning to put the wait to good use. He tried to clear a space but cringed and cursed under his breath as a stack of case files began to slide. Charlie jumped to try and stop the avalanche, managing to save most of it, but the top three spilled their contents across the tile floor. Charlie knelt and began gathering the papers, hoping Don didn't notice, but knowing he would. It was as he shoved the documents into what he hoped were the correct folders, that he saw the photographs for the first time.

For a moment he felt like an electric shock had come through the floor, traveled up his spine and into his brain. In the last years of consulting for the Bureau, he had dealt with some pretty terrible things but these were by far the most lurid crime scene photos he had ever seen. These women had not just been murdered, they had been destroyed. Some were so ripped to pieces it was impossible to tell if they were young or old. A big part of him wanted to shove his computer in his backpack and run like hell. That part of him did not want to have to look into the face of evil again in this lifetime. He gathered the photographs into a stack, trying to avert his eyes from the carnage they portrayed, but his gaze fell on one in particular. It was of a woman about thirty years of age. Most of her features had been obliterated by this monster but you could still see her eyes, clouded by death and wide with horror, and her long pale blond hair dyed scarlet by her own blood.

He thought of Ashley and how her murderer had yet to face justice. Anger gripped his heart and wouldn't let go. He looked at the faces of all the victims. He thought about his broken vow to his lost love, to his murdered friends. He hadn't been able to get justice for them, not yet anyway. He had failed to give them peace, but if he couldn't fulfill that vow, perhaps he could find absolution in giving these women peace. Perhaps he could help find their murderer and perhaps he could prevent any more innocents from dying at his hands. The question was could he do this? Could he immerse himself in the mind of pure evil? He was beginning to recover from his own ordeal; he could almost sleep through the night and be alone in the house without jumping at every sound. Would doing what he needed to do to find the answers for this case put him over the edge? There was no way to know for sure until he tried. The only thing he was certain of was that if this killer was not stopped soon, someone else would die and that was unthinkable. With no small amount of trepidation in his heart, he spread the photographs out on the floor, along with the documents detailing the case and his mind clicked into high gear.

"It's a triad." he whispered. "Everything he does is in groups of three." The mathematician continued to mutter to himself. Finally he gathered all the crime scene photos and evidence together and hurried to the conference room. There he put every last one of them up in order of the date and place they were murdered, typed the information he needed into his laptop and watched as the key he was looking for appeared on the screen. He took a marker and taking a brief moment to put his thoughts in order, he began scribbling equation after equation on the dry erase board.

He stood back and gazed at his computations, the photographs and the evidence files. He could almost see the photographs and the equations moving into their correct positions. The din of the office faded as patterns began to appear. He had gone into that secret world only he understood and the real, more tangible world receded into the background. This was what no one really knew about the way his mind worked. Not even Don knew. This was what sometimes scared him. He didn't just see the patterns in a crime, he could almost see the evil it's self. He could practically taste the madness he was dealing with and he could see the next move, not just in the math but as if he was walking along side the killer himself, as if he was inside the monster's mind.

He took a map and began to track the murders across the country from the first one in New Canaan two years before to the last one the month before in San Diego. He followed the line from one crime to the next. He could see there were at least six bodies never discovered, but that would have to wait. He then drew a line north from the last murder and he knew where the bastard was hunting next, he knew when and he had an idea as to whom his next victim would be. Perhaps he didn't have a name, but he had the type of prey he would be stalking, narrowing down the field of possibilities by a lot.

"Charlie! What the hell are you doing? This is an active case! You can't just come in here and go through folders!" Don shouted when he saw what his brother had done. He grabbed Charlie by the elbow and dragged him none too gently from the room.

"Don I—" Charlie started to say.

"No, you are absolutely not working on this case!" Don shook his head.

"But I can help, if you would just look at my figures, I think I may have…" Charlie had tried to explain but Don cut him off.

"Buddy, I appreciate your need get back to work, but this case, Charlie, " Don looked at the board where Charlie had hung the grizzly photos of fifteen victims murdered nationwide over the past two years, "This case gets inside your head. I'm not sure you're ready for something like this."

Don found his need to shelter Charlie from this nightmare overwhelming. After the hell his brother had endured, he finally seemed to be getting his life back on track. Don could see a little of the old Charlie in his eyes. He was at last moving forward and the FBI agent didn't want something like a serial killer to hamper his recovery.

Charlie stood gazing down at the floor for a second, and then he looked at his brother, "Don, what is the 'right' case for me, a bank fraud perhaps or are you banishing me to cyber crimes? If that's how it is to be, then I guess I'm pretty useless to you. Is that it, Don, am I useless to you?"

"For god's sake no, that's not it! I just don't think you should have to deal with this one, buddy. It's been giving me nightmares for a week." Don laid his hand on Charlie's shoulder. "After all you've been through, I—"

"You can't shield me forever. Look, other units have asked me to work with them including the Violent Gangs Task Force and the BAU. Even the Federal Marshals have contacted me. If you don't want my help, they do." He smiled. "And you won't be allowed to play helicopter brother anymore." He added.

"Helicopter brother?" Don frowned.

"You've been hovering, Don. It's annoying." Charlie smiled. "So, big brother, I'm telling you, and I say this with love, please back off."

Don swallowed hard and nodded. Of course Charlie was right. As much as he would like to, he could not wrap his brother up in cotton padding and shield him from harm. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he knew he needed Charlie on this one. His amazing ability to see what no one else sees had proved invaluable in the past. It was a painful decision but as much as he needed to protect his kid brother, he needed to protect the citizens of L.A. even more.

"Fine, but little bro, if it gets to be too much, please—"

"I'll step down if I have to." Charlie nodded.

Don reluctantly relented and the two men rejoined the team. He sat in the back as usual and crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay, buddy, tell us what you have."

Charlie had taken a deep breath. This was not going to be an easy sale. His findings flew in the face of everything the Bureau believed to be true about this case. He turned and began his briefing as he had so many times before. The team had listened attentively as he explained his findings and why he felt he was right and the FBI experts were wrong. Even as he spoke he could see the doubt in their eyes. When he finished by circling a section on the map of Beverly Hills and told them the killer would strike in that general area on that very night, he could tell the team wasn't the only one who doubted him; his own brother was shaking his head slowly.

"Can you explain all of this again?" Don said, "Slower this time because, no offense Charlie, you are making no sense at all. Why are you sure the killer is going to strike tonight?"

"Because of the pattern," Charlie said and his voice became soft, almost distracted as he looked over the display he had created. "This madman is not just killing women; he is killing the Goddess. Look at the photographs. Every murder has occurred either during the waxing moon, the full moon, or the dark moon. Last month he killed a pregnant woman during the full moon representing The Mother." He paused and narrowed his eyes. "Tonight is the dark moon and he'll be hunting. He'll have to because his compulsion will not give him a choice. He _HAS _to complete the Triad so he can begin again next month probably around here." He circled an area surrounding Monterey.

He looked at each of them in turn. "If you don't stop him now, next month he will be hunting for a young girl—The Maid. That will be on the 16th." No one made eye contact. "Look at the photographs and you can see the pattern. I have matched the dates of the murders up with the lunar calendar for those dates and without fail, they match up. Can't any of you see it?" His eyes were practically begging for someone to understand what he was trying to show them.

The team all looked at one another or the floor and no one looked at Charlie.

"Buddy, can you wait in my office for a minute?" Don said gently.

Charlie only nodded and walked out of the room. He felt frustrated and a little angry. He could see it in their eyes, they no longer trusted him. This was just one more thing Hicks had stolen from him. These people who had placed their lives in his hands so many times before no longer believed in him. They had no faith in his skills. He was no longer a part of their team; he was just a consultant. He was aware his theory was far out, but he had given them far out theories before and they had listened and given him the benefit of the doubt, but things had changed. They probably thought he was a little off in the head and maybe he was, but in this case, he was also right.

"What do we do?" Granger asked after Charlie left.

Don leaned his head back against the wall, "Charlie has never let us down before." He said his eyes closed against the beginnings of a pounding headache.

"No, but he hasn't been himself for a long time, Don. You know that. Hell, you've been worried about his mental state for weeks." David interjected. "You even mentioned he needed therapy, perhaps even medication. Maybe he does, Don. Maybe your brother needs help."

Don nodded and took a deep breath. "Charlie has always come through for us. Even slightly nuts he has more brains than this entire office put together." He stood up. "I've always trusted him before. I'll trust him now." He said. "Get the equipment together and be ready to go after dinner. Looks like this could be a late night."

Charlie stood, arms wrapped around his chest and watched as the team left for stakeout. He had wanted to go with them, but Don had firmly put his foot down and would not be swayed. He could either wait in the office or go home, but he was NOT joining them in the field. Charlie chose the office and had spent five agonizing hours pacing, and chewing his nails to the quick. Myriad thoughts kept running through his brain, all beginning with 'what if'. What if he was wrong? What if he had sent the team on a wild goose chase? What if he had sent them into danger and one of his friends or Don was hurt or killed because they trusted him? He thought about the photographs Hicks had shoved under his nose showing just how flawed his math could be. He thought about his brother being stabbed because he had been distracted by his position at CalSci and he had made an error in his calculations. Don had nearly died because of him. Even their Dad blamed him for that one and still did.

And he began to doubt himself, maybe he _wasn't_ the same anymore. Maybe he could no longer handle the violence he was exposed to at the Bureau. Maybe he was wrong about this case and if he was, someone else could die tonight in some other part of town and he would be to blame. His days with the FBI would be over for sure. He'd be lucky if he could get a job consulting for security at the mall. Charlie had been on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack when his cell rang, causing him to spill a cup of very bad coffee all over his shirt and knock most of the files off Don's desk.

"Don!" He had answered his heart beating a mile a minute.

"Charlie, you did it! You were right! We have the suspect in custody. We're coming in." Don sounded as ecstatic as Don was capable of sounding.

"Is everyone…" Charlie started to ask.

"Everyone is fine, buddy, thanks to you. And thanks to you Miss Alice will be pushing her shopping cart picking through the trash for her treasures for a while longer. Look, it's going to take hours to get this guy processed and booked so why don't you head home. I'll see you in the morning."

"Sure, thanks Don." Charlie had felt like a boulder had been lifted from his chest.

"And little brother, you did a great job. Welcome back." Don said and hung up.

"Yes!" Charlie had practically danced. Then his cell rang again. It was his dad reminding him of the hour and that he had a doctor's appointment the next morning. He smiled knowing full well his dad's real reason for calling. He told him the stakeout had gone well. The perp had been apprehended with no injuries on either side. He could literally feel his father relax on the other end of the line.

"Hurry home son," he had said. "And drive safe."

Five minutes later Charlie was dashing across the garage for his car. He could hear his own footsteps echoing in the nearly deserted structure and one level up a car engine started. He heard the squeal of tires as someone took the ramp a little too fast. He slowed his pace as he approached the Range Rover fumbling in his pocket for the keys. It was then he heard footsteps somewhere in the dark. He froze and listened, then shook his head, dismissing them. It was probably just someone else who had to work late. He turned to unlock the car and froze again as a soft chuckle reached his ears and the sound of someone softly whistling a tune. He was getting tense and fumbling with the keys. He dropped them, cursed, and then as he bent to pick them up, he saw the shadow of a man as he crept up on him from behind. He stood, spun around and let out a shout when he found himself face to face with Al, a homeless man who called the parking garage home unless security chased him out.

"Al, you scared the crap out of me!" Charlie said, panting.

"Sorry, Doc just wondered if you might have some spare change." Al was twitching and rubbing at his lips.

Charlie noticed that the perpetual rash, a side effect of huffing chemicals, which covered his nose and mouth, was even more red and raw than usual. His teeth were rotted from years of abusing crack and simple neglect. Charlie knew the man was probably about five years his junior but his harsh life had long ago stolen his youth and he looked like an old man. He always smelled of sour sweat, vomit, urine and Toluene, but tonight the stench was particularly strong. It took all his strength not to react. For one thing, he didn't want to hurt the man's feelings and for another, years of breathing in toxic fumes and smoking crack and angel dust had rendered him unpredictable and unstable. Al might just bum a few bucks off you, but if he got it in his head you threatened him in anyway, he could get violent and that was the last thing Charlie needed. He appeared frail but Al could be surprisingly strong and he carried a really big knife.

"Yeah, I think I do." Charlie dug in his pocket and pulled out a few dollar bills and placed them in the filthy outstretched hand. He took a good look at a man shunned by the world and frowned. Al never looked healthy, but tonight he looked very sick. "Look, isn't there someplace I can take you, how about a shelter or the Mission?"

"Those places don't let the likes of me in, but thanks for the offer." He shoved the money into his back pocket. "You're a good man, Doc." His head involuntarily jerked and he rubbed his mouth again. "You'd best get off the streets now, it's not safe out here for the likes of you, not safe at all. There's evil prowling tonight. You should watch yourself."

"I will. You watch yourself too, Al. I'll see you soon." Charlie said sadly, wondering if he would see the man alive again. "Look, I could drive you to the hospital. They could help you get clean and…"

"I've gotten clean before. I didn't care for it." Al looked around, and then he leaned over and whispered, "I saw Lucifer himself earlier. He's hunting for souls tonight. You run if you see him, Doc, you run real fast!" Al looked over Charlie's shoulder and shuddered, "Over there! I saw him again! You get out of here now before he gets you like he got the others."

Charlie turned and looked. For a moment he thought he saw a shape move in the dark, but decided it was only the shadow of a concrete pillar cast by a passing car's headlights. When he turned around, Al was gone.

The mathematician nervously got the car door open, slid into the Range Rover and quickly locked it. He sat for a moment, with his trembling hands on the steering wheel, kicking himself for being such an idiot. He had let a psychotic huffer, a man with Swiss cheese for a brain, freak him out. Al had seen Lucifer hunting souls in the night! Hell, his mind was so addled he probably saw Care Bears dancing the Maranga under the full moon! Charlie fastened his seat belt, started the car and headed for home.

When he arrived at the Craftsman, he ran inside, locking the front door and making sure the alarm was set. He smiled when he saw his father had left a note on the dining room table letting him know there was a plate for him in the refrigerator and reminding him AGAIN that his doctor's appointment was at ten AM. He knew his dad would remind him yet again in the morning. He wondered just when his father would stop 'fathering' his grown son and the answer came to him instantly 'Never'. This was who Alan Eppes was and he would never change. Charlie had accepted that long ago.

Charlie looked in the fridge and saw a plate of his father's lasagna. He was tempted, but decided he was mainly just tired and as delicious as his dad's food was, the heavy pasta dish would not sit well at two AM. He made a quick run through the house making sure all the doors were locked and lights shut off and then, feeling like he could sleep for a week, he headed upstairs to his room.

He didn't notice anything amiss at first. Everything seemed perfectly normal. Charlie went about his regular routine to get ready for bed. He switched on the lamp on the nightstand and tossed his jacket on the bed. He started to unbutton his shirt but felt his body go rigid as he began to realize something was very wrong. He caught the faintest whiff of the scent of roses in the air intermingled with the unmistakable aroma of strong tobacco. He felt his blood turn to ice water. He was not alone. With a shaking hand he reached in his pocket for his mobile to call Don and at the same time he took a step towards the door, but before he could hit the speed dial an arm went around his throat cutting off his air and his ability to cry out.

An all too familiar voice hissed in his ear as a hand reached down and took the phone from him, tossing it across the room. "You should have bashed my head in with that shovel while you had the chance, but you were weak, little fox, you were compassionate. That was a bad mistake, you foolish, foolish boy."

Charlie made a sound deep in his throat as dread filled his heart. The sharp point of cold, razor sharp steel was pressed to his back. He could feel the heat of the madman's breath in his ear and smell the stench of cigarettes.

"Shhhhh, not one sound," the blade was pressed harder against his flesh."Be absolutely quiet or I'll plunge this knife all the way through you, puncturing your diaphragm making it impossible for you to talk or take a breath then I'll shove it here…" Charlie felt the knife at the side of his throat. "I'll rip your throat out from the inside, do you understand me?"

Charlie gave a quick nod and Hicks released his grip a little so his prey could breathe. He shuddered as the blade was gently stroked over his face like a lover's tender touch and Hicks leaned in, his lips almost touching Charlie's ear. "Now, we are going to have a nice, polite chat, and if you behave, you will be very much alive when I leave, but if you piss me off…" The blade was again at his jugular. Hicks chuckled. "It would be a real shame to ruin this beautiful wood floor with something as nasty as warm, fresh blood. The stain would never come out. I was rather hoping to end your worthless life tonight, but for now that is not to be. Sadly, He has use for you and my orders are to leave you alive, unless of course you force my hand." He pushed the blade tight against the white flesh. "Come on, Charlie, please, force my hand." He growled.

Charlie stood motionless, trying not to move.

"We were there with you, you know, on your little vacation. Your idiot brother spotted Him once through his binoculars, but of course he had no idea what he was seeing. He probably thought he was watching, oh I don't know," He softly hissed, "Big Foot." Hicks chuckled again and rested his chin on Charlie's shoulder. "Now for the reason for this visit, He congratulates you on your victory in our last game, but reminds you that victory, like love or life it's self, is fleeting. He looks forward to our next challenge and wants you know the rules have changed." He placed his cheek against Charlie's. "This game is by invitation only and the consequences for cheating are— dire. One whisper about this to anyone and I will spill your precious father's guts on the kitchen floor and as a bonus, I will leave your brother's eyes in your refrigerator where they will stay nice and fresh along with Donovan's manhood. Their lives are in your hands so, not one word. Do you understand me?" The hated lips were almost pressed to Charlie's pale cheek.

The smaller man nodded once.

"Good. You are a smart boy." Hicks gave Charlie a quick hug. "Our time together tonight grows short. He has left a gift for you in the top drawer of your desk, a reward for your past victory. And Charlie, in case you think you can warn your brother or Donovan just remember, He has many followers in many places. We will know and the carnage that follows will be on your head. You cannot deceive us, you cannot hide from us. We are legion."

"Hicks," Charlie's voice was low, soft and absolutely without fear. "If I ever get the chance, compassion is not a mistake I'll make again."

Hicks chuckled. "So, our sniveling little fox is becoming a wolf! Excellent, this will make sparring with you far more—entertaining. Goodnight, sleep well." He tenderly kissed his opponent on the top of his head and was gone.

Charlie stood, eyes closed for a minute, feeling as if he was going to be sick. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked around. He was alone. Hicks had vanished like some phantasm in a late night movie.

"Dad!" He whispered and as quietly as he could, he ran from his room down the hall to his father's.

Very slowly he opened the door and glanced inside. The older man was sleeping peaceful and totally ignorant of how close he had been to the devil on this night. Charlie could hear the sound of his dad's snoring and the creak of the bed as he stirred. He stood over his father, his heart in his throat as he reached down and picked up a blood red rose tied in a black lace ribbon that lay over his dad's breast. He clutched the perfect blossom in his hand and backed out of the room. The message had been received. No matter what he did, if this monster wanted to hurt his family, he would.

Charlie hurried back to his own room and sat at his desk. In a silent rage he crushed the rose in his bare hand, the thorns pricking the soft flesh, drawing blood. He tossed the crushed flower in the wastebasket and cautiously opened the top desk drawer. For a moment he faltered then he picked up the small pale blue box tied with a silver ribbon. Carefully he opened it and gasped at what lay within. Slowly he removed Ashley's treasured cameo and the pocket watch his mother had given him years ago. He took out the enclosed note unfolded it and read the words written there.

_My dearest opponent,_

_As your father sleeps unaware in his bed, I sit at your desk and think of you, my most worthy adversary. As a symbol of the high esteem in which I hold you, I return your treasures. I look forward to meeting you face to face in the near future. Until then, little fox, be well. Storm clouds are gathering and soon the inevitable tempest will come and we may all be washed away by its wrath. Enjoy our transitory time of peace, be ever vigilant and watch for the signs for I am always near._

_My Deepest Regards,_

_A._

Charlie crumpled the note now stained with his own blood. Somehow the stains seemed an omen of things to come. He sat staring at nothing. Azariah himself had been in his house, watched his father sleep, and sat in his room at his desk. He was tempted to call Don, to raise the alarm, but he knew that would be a grave error. As Hicks had so coldly informed him, this was a private game to be played by a chosen few. Those he loved would be safe unless he brought them into the game. And if he did that, not even heaven could protect them.

He stood up and went to his bedroom window. He looked out across the garden towards the koi pond. He heard the front door open and close and soon footsteps passed his door in the hall. Don had finished his paperwork and was staying the night, no doubt to check up on his kid brother in the morning. '_Once a_ _helicopter brother, always a helicopter brother,'_ Charlie thought affectionately. Don was never going to change either. Earlier, his big brother had told him Robin and he had decided on a date for their wedding, May 20th. It would be a small, intimate affair, just family and close friends. They wanted to have it in the garden and of course, Charlie would be his brother's best man. He had been honored to be asked. But with this nocturnal visit from his old enemy, things had changed and he knew his brother would marry without him. Events were being set in motion and decisions taken out of his hands. He wondered just how long he had before the memory of this blessed life with these dear, sweet people was all he would have left of home.

The End of Part One of: _The Azariah Trilogy_


End file.
